The Tales of Weasley the Father
by dieselwriter
Summary: Who knew all of Ron's screw ups in life would result in helpful advice? Unfortunately for him, his children don't always appreciate his pearls of wisdom. *Chapter 31: House*
1. Names

A/n: So apparently (according to mugglenet) today is the 10 year anniversary of the Voldemort's downfall. And I thought, hey, this needs to be celebrated! Yayz for Harry!

So this is just an experimental set of fics to really help me get in gear with writing dialogue. For some reason I'm pretty okay with my action but my dialogue…meh. And this was totally based off my earlier fic, _Knights with Firewhiskey_. Is it necessary you read that before this? No. Should you read it anyway? Uh, ya (it's good, or so I hear).

Summary: "Who knew all of Ron's screw ups in life would result in helpful advice? Unfortunately for him, his children don't always appreciate his pearls of wisdom."

Setting: Beginning and end take place at Casa de Weasley (ole!), flashback during…5th year, I guess. But every flashback in this fic will deal with a different time period, so don't hold me to that.

Disclaimer (in internetz): i dun ownz teh hpz, cuz dey jkz. noobzftwlolbbqzomg.

Rating: Guh, G for now, cause this is rather safe writing. Although…not sure if it will stay this way for long (cause I am EVIL!).

Final A/n: This is multi-chaptered, if just for the sole purpose I can get back into writing for fun (I've had to write WAY too many papers for my stupid literature class…he won't even let me write about Harry Potter! Jerk…). Also this will hopefully be able to get me into a practice of updating more often (NOT once a month…more like once a week). This is assuming, however, that I will continue getting good (or usable at least) ideas aflowing.

And Hannah, I'll be working on Hugo and Rosie becoming, as you so bluntly called them, butt munchies. They kinda are in this chapter, but I intend to expand on their characters in the chapters to come.

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father**

**By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 1: The Tale of Names**

It had been a long day at the Ministry for Ron, and all he really wanted when he went home was something good to eat, a hot shower, and a warm bed.

Unfortunately for him, he had quite a different fate awaiting him when he emerged from the Floo covered in soot.

"Fat head!"

"Skrewt face!"

"Goblin brain!"

"Dragon breath!"

"Oi! What is this?"

The two red-faced children turned toward their father, and began yelling at the same time.

"Rosie called me slug butt!"

"Hugo started it! He said I was a—"

"That's not true! Rosie—"

"All right, all right, that's enough!" Ron called above his two irate children in as authoritative a voice as he could muster. "Where's your mother?"

Hugo crossed his arms defiantly and looked out the window. Rosie sneered at him, but answered, "Mum's out front, talking to Mrs. Puckle."

Ron rubbed his eyes wearily. "What'd you do this time?"

"Well, it started when Hu—"

"I didn't do _anything_!" Hugo interjected hotly. "Rosie was chasing me through Mrs. Puckle's geraniums—"

"Well that's because you called me a troll!" Rosie replied.

"You said I was a—" Hugo began to exclaim, but Ron interrupted.

"Hey! What have we said about the name calling, guys? This is getting ridiculous!" Ron exclaimed.

Both of his children glared at the other.

"She started it," Hugo muttered, and Rosie sent him a dirty look.

Ron sighed deeply. "Do you guys know what name I call your mum?"

Both Rosie and Hugo looked to their father with mild interest.

"She doesn't have a nickname," Rosie answered quickly.

"And do you know _why_?"

The two children looked at each other, as if expecting a joke from their father.

"Let me tell you about the time I gave your mum a nickname…."

* * *

Hermione looked up from her Potions essay to see Ron staring at her from the couch.

"Ron, I can't concentrate on this essay when you're watching me."

Ron didn't break eye contact. "You know, Hermione, your name is too long."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Well," Hermione twilled her quill in her hand, "what do you suppose I should do?"

"You need a nickname," Ron replied nonchalantly.

"But I like my name."

"Nobody wants to say a name with four syllables, though. It takes too long."

"No one else is complaining. I think you're just getting too lazy to say the whole thing," Hermione said, trying to turn back to the essay.

Ron moved from sitting on the couch to the armrest. "How about Hermy? Grawp likes it."

"I refuse to be called Hermy. Sounds too close to Herman."

"So Herman is out of the picture too, eh?"

Hermione sent Ron a look that made him recoil slightly.

"Okay, okay, no boy names, I get it. How about…'Mione?"

"Four syllable names are out of the picture, but three syllable nicknames work?"

"Yeah, good point…the best nicknames are two syllables and under. Will Mio work then?"

"Me-oh?" Hermione grinned. "No, that's not going to work. That's something a lazy cat would say."

"I hear Crookshanks saying it all the time," Ron grinned, and Hermione rolled her eyes and tried to get back to her paper. "Well, what did Vicky call you? He probably couldn't even pronounce your name…" Ron adopted a gruffer, deeper tone. "Herm-own-nee. Hermy-ow-nee. Herm-o-ninny…."

Hermione blushed a bit but didn't reply.

"Ah, those are really lame though, and are twice as hard to say as your original name."

"Does that mean you're going to give up and just go back to my original name?" Hermione asked hopefully.

Ron got up from the couch and strode over to Hermione. "You know, I used to call you a know-it-all all the time back a few years ago. Maybe I should just start calling you that again," he said, picking up one of the books on the table.

"But I don't know it all…if I did I wouldn't have to worry about this essay so much," Hermione replied, grabbing her book back from Ron.

"But calling you a know-some-of-it-all isn't nearly as catchy. Plus it belittles those of us who thought we knew some-of –it-all. See, I could have considered myself a know-some-of-it-all until you called yourself one; now I'll have to be categorized as a know-very-little-of-it-all. It's degrading."

"Fine, I'm a know-it-all; can I finish my paper in peace now?" Hermione replied shortly.

"Yeah, sure, I was on my way to bed anyway," Ron replied, stretching his long arms as he headed toward the staircase leading to the boys' dormitories. "Goodnight, know-it-all."

"Goodnight, Ronald."

Ron halted at the staircase, turned around and looked at Hermione. She kept her head down determinedly, quill scratching across the parchment.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

Hermione smiled.

"Goodnight, Ron."

* * *

"So, moral of the story?" Ron asked his no longer interested children.

"Don't interrupt mum while she's studying?" Rosie asked distractedly.

"Mum's not a know-it-all?" Hugo said, pulling at a loose thread on his sleeve.

"Never trample Mrs. Puckle's geraniums?"

Both children turned around to see their mother standing in the doorway. They each turned to look at their feet, ashamed.

"Sorry, mum," they said together, a long-practiced habit.

"Well, you don't have to apologize to me, but you will have plenty of time to say sorry to Mrs. Puckle. You're helping her tend her garden all next week as punishment."

Rosie and Hugo both groaned.

"Now go wash your hands, it's time for dinner."

Ron watched as his children raced each other out of the room and down the hall. He then turned to his wife, eyebrow raised.

"That was not the moral of the story," he said, crossing his arms.

"I'm sorry; I came in late. I assumed it had to do with respecting other people's property?"

"No," Ron muttered halfheartedly. "It had to do with name-calling."

"Oh, were they calling each other names?" she asked. "Well, they're kids, they'll grow out of it soon enough. You did eventually, and look how you turned out."

"Well, thanks, little know-it-all."

"You're welcome, Ronald."

* * *

Love it? Hate it? Want more of it? REVIEW (please).

P.S.- Technically Mrs. Puckle doesn't belong to me. Here's a bit of HP trivia…does anybody know who she belongs to?


	2. Mothers

**A/n:** I took some major writer's liberties and creative lisencing with this chapter, meaning that what happens in the flashback would probably never be able to happen….But I have always wondered how Ron knew how to get to Shell Cottage…

I wrote this one in three hours…hopefully it's not as bad as I think it might be.

Oh, and this one is way more detail-oriented than the last one. What can I say? I love detail.

And you will also notice that I updated in a little over a week. That's a miracle for me! Allelujah! But now on with the story!

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 2: The (Untold) Tale of Mothers**

Having kids does strange things to people. Children can make their parents more responsible, more compassionate, and more cautious.

For Ron and Hermione, having children made them very different sleepers.

Hermione used to wake up in an instance if Ron rolled over or snored too loudly. But between two children and working at the Ministry, she had become a much heavier sleeper, so much so that the loudest of Ron's snores couldn't even penetrate her unconsciousness.

Ron used to wake up only if Hermione shook him awake or shouted at him. But when Hermione adapted her heavy sleeping, he had to adapt a much lighter sleeping habit, so much so that the smallest of cries from his children would rouse him awake and make him find the source of unhappiness.

And that was why Ron found himself awake early in the morning on a Sunday, listening to his children argue in whispers in the hallway, while Hermione slept on peacefully.

Ron sighed deeply and, realizing the argument wasn't going to get settled anytime soon, shuffled bleary-eyed to the doorway.

"How do you burn _toast_?" Rosie was whispering harshly to her brother.

Ron stood in front of the slightly cracked door, listening.

"Well, Dad usually makes the toast…I don't know how to work the toaster! It's a Muggle thing!" Hugo replied angrily, making what Ron thought was a valid point. He hadn't even known what a toaster was until he and Hermione got one as a wedding gift from one of her Muggle relatives.

"Why didn't you make more?" Rosie returned, still keeping her voice low.

"We were out of bread…what was I supposed to do? We could wake Dad and ask him to make more, maybe…."

"You can't make food; Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration says you can't."

"Well cheers for Gamp, but I didn't ask for a lecture, Miss Smarty Pants."

"I'm just saying that Dad can't make bread out of thin air—"

"And _I'm_ saying that you don't need to shove a dead bloke's law under my nose, especially when _you're_ the only one who knows it!"

"Well, actually," Ron interjected quietly, opening the door to look upon his children's astonished faces, "Mum taught me that one."

Ron smiled as his children continued to gape. Hugo was holding a breakfast tray laden with the aforementioned toast, eggs, and tea, while Rosie held a poorly wrapped parcel in one hand and a bouquet of dandelions in the other.

"Ah," Ron nodded as it dawned on him what day it was, "Mother's Day."

Rosie turned from surprise to anger in an instant. "Yeah, and Hugo ruined it. He burned the toast."

"Well, at least the toast won't make her sick," Hugo retorted. "Mum's allergic to dandelions."

"She's allergic to _daffodils_, not dandelions."

"She's allergic to daisies," Ron corrected, having learned that first-hand from a rather disastrous date many years ago. "But that doesn't matter; I'm sure she'll love what you guys are doing. All mothers love their kids no matter what. Why, I remember one time when I had a talk with your Grandmum…."

Both brother and sister looked at each other in alarm, before turning bright, smiling faces on their father.

"You are absolutely right, Dad," Hugo said, shoving his way around his father and into the room. "Mum's gonna love the idea of me cooking for her."

"And Mum will love the flowers, especially since she isn't allergic to them," Rosie said, also side-stepping around her father to enter the bedroom.

Ron watched in mild amusement as his children jumped on the bed and woke their mother.

It was better that Ron hadn't been able to tell his story anyway; it wasn't his proudest moment, and was probably better left untold.

* * *

Ron stood at the riverbank, feeling exhausted, lost, and alone.

He'd spent the night fighting with Hermione and Harry, running into and escaping from Snatchers, Splinching himself, and hiking for miles, trying to find their campsite.

And he finally found it, but too late; Harry and Hermione had already gone.

And now he had no idea what to do.

His first thought was the Burrow; to return home and make sure his family was okay. But he couldn't do that…he couldn't take the chance of Fred and George or, God forbid, Ginny finding out what he had done.

His next thought was Charlie, but he wasn't sure what Charlie was up to these days. He'd been helping out the Order abroad last time he heard, and Ron wasn't too keen to go on a cross-country search for his older brother. He might as well spend the time finding Harry and Hermione.

Bill was next, but again, Ron wasn't sure where he and his new bride were staying. Ron had overhead his oldest brother mention something about a cottage at the wedding, but he couldn't possibly Apparate to a cottage he couldn't find, especially since Bill was probably the Secret Keeper.

Some small, hopeful part of him thought of Percy for a split-second, before Ron scrapped the idea. Percy might understand his predicament, running off on the family and all, but again Ron had no idea where to find him, and he absolutely hated the idea of being compared to the betraying git in the first place.

Ron sat down on the ground as a heavy weight fell on his heart. He was the betraying git now; he was the Percy of their trio.

Something burned behind Ron's eyes as he realized that he was, for the first time in his life, completely and utterly alone.

But, he remembered, trying to find some hope in the situation, his mum always seemed to want Percy back…. Last Christmas, when he had come over, she had been so happy to think he was returning…. Maybe Ron could go back to the Burrow, if not to just find out where Charlie or Bill were staying at….

It was either that or sit where he was for the rest of his life, so he stood up and Apparated.

After landing and checking himself over to make sure he had done the magic without Splinching himself again, he slowly ventured to his childhood home. The house stood as he had always remembered it during the winter. There was merely a light dusting of snow on the ground which meant that, with any luck, Ginny had not returned for holiday yet.

He reached the front door and hesitated, realizing that he couldn't bring himself to knock, but didn't have the courage to open and enter. What if Ginny was home for Christmas, and he ran into her? She'd find out what happened and curse him into oblivion. She'd never forgive him, and then the rest of the family would find out and he would be disowned faster than Percy was and—

Ron's internal conflict was resolved as the front door was opened for him as his mother stood in front of him, a look of utter shock on her face.

Both mother and son stared at each other for a few moments before Ron, clearing his throat, squeaked out: "Hi, Mum."

His mother began to cry softly as she flung herself at him, hugging him tightly. And just as Ron was about to stammer again awkwardly, she pulled back and looked frantically behind him.

"What happened? Where are Harry and Hermione? Did you run into Snatchers? Did they take Harry and Hermione? Is that why you're hurt?" she shrieked, grabbing his hand and showing him his Splinched fingernails.

Ron couldn't stand this compassion; he didn't deserve it. His eyes started to burn again in shame as he looked down and away…anything so he didn't have to look at her loving face.

"I…I ran…I r-ran away," he stuttered, looking at his Splinched fingernails, but he was long past feeling the pain they caused. "And…and I ran into Snatchers, but I got away, but I Splinched myself again, but I tried to get back to them before they left, but…b-but…they left me."

Ron couldn't see anything anymore; his eyes screwed shut as tears fell unabashedly down his cheeks. He didn't even know why he bothered coming back home at all; his mother would disown him…he couldn't even stand to hear what she might say next. He turned to leave, before a strong hand grabbed his arm and turned him back around.

His mother brought him back in for another hug, and this time he cried on her shoulder, as she held him and comforted him.

"My son…my Ron," she consoled, rubbing his back, "you made a mistake…but you are the most compassionate and sensitive of all my children. Seeing you this upset shows me that. And I know that you would do anything to make things right with your friends. And I also know that you will be given that opportunity sooner than you might think. And you will do so admirably."

"But…but…what if I'm too late? What if they get caught? What if V-Volde—"

"NO!" she roared, causing Ron to look at her with wide, fearful eyes as his tears stopped flowing. He hadn't even realized what he was saying, and as such was quite unaware of nearly saying the name he so despised hearing from Harry and Hermione.

"Don't say his name! It's Taboo- jinxed," she amended, seeing the confused look on his face. "Saying the name breaks protective enchantments and causes a magical disturbance that the Death Eaters use to track down people. Harry and Hermione haven't been saying his name, have they?"

Ron finally understood why they had been discovered at Tottenham Court Road only a few minutes after escaping the wedding. And he also realized that, with Harry and Hermione on their own, there would be no one to stop them saying the name of the Dark Lord.

"They say it…I stop them from saying it…without me they're going to get caught," Ron whispered, looking at his mother for some form of consolation he knew she couldn't provide. "They're going to get killed."

"No, they're smart kids…I'm sure they can figure it out," she said, then moved inside the house. "Let's get out of the cold, dear; we'll get you settled in."

Ron shook his head sadly. "I can't stay here, Mum. Ginny's going to come home for holiday…I can't face her."

"I see," she nodded in understanding. "Well, you can stay with Bill!"

Ron lightened up, getting to information he could use. "Where is he staying?"

"Shell Cottage on the outskirts of Tinworth," she replied quickly. "Bill is Secret Keeper, of course."

Ron smiled as he took a step away from the front door. "Thanks Mum."

"You'll be sure to send me a message when you get there, telling me you're safe?" she asked desperately.

"I can't, Mum…what if it got intercepted?"

"You can Floo me, then."

Ron took another step away from his mother.

"All the Floos are being watched now, Mum. You know that."

"Have Bill come and tell me you're safe, then."

"Mum…."

"You will not leave me again, Ronald Weasley!" she shouted shrilly, as he took another step away. "You left before, but you will NOT LEAVE ME AGAIN!"

He knew it. He shouldn't have told her what he had done. He might have been initially relieved to tell someone, but now he knew that she knew too much. He had been selfish again; this was too big a burden for her to carry. She'd want to see him, and someone would find out, and then everyone would know. And if she let anything slip to anybody, all the Weasleys and Harry and Hermione would be in big trouble.

Well, Harry and Hermione would be in bigger trouble than Ron had left them in.

"You come back here RIGHT NOW!" she cried, the authority in her voice being lost to her tears.

He had seen it performed many times, and Hermione had practiced the spell with him over the summer. She had thought it could be of some importance during the coming months. And, as always, she had been right.

"_RON_!"

"_Obliviate_!"

He couldn't stand it anymore. His mother had fallen back into the house, and he ran away from her. The second he reached the edge of the magical wards protecting the old house, he Disapparated to the outskirts of Tinworth, to Shell Cottage.

* * *

"Mmm…" Hermione smacked her lips as she ate her burnt toast. "Delicious."

Hugo smiled with pride as Rosie bounced up and down on the bed next to him.

"Open your present, Mommy!" she shouted, holding it in her hands.

Hermione laughed as she stuffed the rest of the toast in her mouth and accepted the parcel.

"Sh'ank you, dear," she tried to say through her mouthful of toast.

"You're shmelcome," Rosie replied with a cheeky grin.

Hermione returned the grin as she slowly opened the parcel, taking care to not tear the paper.

"Mu-um!" Hugo groaned, now bouncing up and down like his sister. "You open too slow! Rip it open!"

"But that's a waste of paper!"

"MUM!"

"Oh, alright," Hermione gave up, ripping the paper. "Oh how lovely!"

Hermione held up the picture frame to Ron, so he could see the smiling faces of his family in the magical photo it held.

"This is lovely…thank you," she beamed, hugging Hugo and Rosie together.

"Ow, Mum, you're squishing my face!" Hugo said thickly.

"I can't breath!" Rosie gasped through her mother's pajama top.

Ron smiled as he stepped away from the doorway and climbed on top of the bed to join his family. He leaned forward, over his laughing children, to kiss Hermione on the forehead.

"Happy Mother's Day."

* * *

**A/n**: Well, this chapter was slightly longer than the last, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same. And I realize that this chapter might not be canon…at all. But isn't that what fanfiction's for? ;)

Thank you to all my new friends for reviewing, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the last one. Please review again, so I can tell if you'd rather have more detail or more dialogue in the next chapter!

And cheers to all of you who figured out that Puckle was J.K.'s original last name for Hermione. Way to be nerdy like me! ;) (That's not an insult…being nerdy is way too fun!)

P.S.- HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!


	3. Insecurities

**A/n**: Sorry, guys, I've been pretty busy since summer started, and I had severe writer's block at the end of the chapter. But here it is, and I hope you enjoy it!

Oh, and slightly bad language. Just a teeny-weeny bit, for drama's sake.

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 3: The Tale of Insecurities**

Ron had been away on an Auror assignment for the past three days, so upon Apparating home, he opened the front door in readiness to greet the site he usual found after his missions.

Hermione was still at work at the Ministry, so the first thing he found was a note, explaining how to get dinner ready. When entering the kitchen, he found his son in his usual spot at the kitchen table, grinning broadly at Mrs. Puckle, who served as babysitter while he and Hermione were both away. She was surveying the chess board that sat between Hugo and herself, searching for a move that, as Ron could tell, would lead to checkmate by his son quickly.

"Well, how's my family?" Ron asked, dropping his rucksack on the table and leaning over to kiss Hugo on top of the head.

"I'm about to win!" Hugo smiled up at him.

"Yes, he is," grumbled Mrs. Puckle as Hugo laughed.

"Sorry, he gets that from me," Ron said. He stared at his daughter's empty chair and suddenly realized that his usual reception was missing someone. "Where's Rosie?"

"She's upstairs, Mr. Weasley," Mrs. Puckle answered, as she finally made a play on the chess board.

"You can call me Ron, Mrs. Puckle."

"As soon as you start calling me Agatha, Mr. Weasley."

Ron smiled as he left the room to head upstairs to find his daughter. Hermione never called Mrs. Puckle by her first name, and yet the eighty-year-old witch always seemed to be able to call Hermione by her first name. Hermione found this quality endearing; Ron found it annoying. But even he couldn't complain about her great babysitting abilities. Whenever his mum wasn't available to baby-sit, Mrs. Puckle was always right next door, ready to come over to spend an afternoon with the kids.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Ron checked Rosie's bedroom, but found no trace of his daughter. He looked in Hugo's room, but was met again with an empty bedroom. He checked his own bedroom on a hunch, and heard Rosie huffing in what sounded like consternation from the bathroom. Ron entered the loo and was met with quite a sight.

His daughter had what looked like an entire bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion poured on her head. Her mirror reflection looked guiltily at her father's reflection, and then she turned around to shine him a bright smile.

"Welcome home, Daddy! How was your trip?"

Her face fell as Ron raised an eyebrow.

"What on Merlin's green earth are you doing?"

"Just…trying something new with my hair…."

"_Why_?"

Now she started looking upset, at which Ron felt incredibly uneasy.

"Bobby Benson was teasing me about my hair again and…well… I just wanted to see if this stuff would tame it," she answered, holding up an empty bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.

"Did you even attempt to read the directions before pouring all that goop on your head?"

"It wasn't working! A knut-sized amount isn't enough to fix this hair!" Rosie cried.

"I don't see why you're so concerned with your hair anyway," Ron said. Seeing his daughter's face, he knew he had said the wrong thing.

"Well of course _you_ don't see anything wrong with it, Dad. Mum has the same hair; you have to like it! But Bobby was with his friends and they were all making fun of me…and I just don't like my hair!"

Ron walked over to his daughter and tried to run his fingers through her hair. He couldn't make it an inch before his fingers stuck in her mane of rock-hard hair.

"Rosie, there are some things about yourself you just can't change. Magic can help with a lot of stuff, but it can only do so much. You'll just have to accept your hair, or else keep it like this for the rest of your life. And I think you'll find the former a lot easier."

But Ron felt even more uneasy upon seeing his daughter look at her reflection in the mirror. Ron recognized the look on her face, and couldn't believe he was seeing this look on his nine-year-old daughter's face: she looked insecure.

"I've told you how I got these, right?" Ron asked as he rolled up his sleeves to show off the faint scars still residing on his arms.

Rosie looked at her father's scars, interested with this new tactic. "Yes."

"Well, I don't mind showing them off now, but when I first got them, I wasn't so fond of them. In fact, I remember talking to your Uncle Harry about them…."

* * *

"You whore."

The woman backed away from him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I never meant it to get this far!"

"The hell you didn't!"

His giant fist collided with her jaw, and the woman fell to the ground in a torrent of tears.

"I swear it! I love you, and only you!"

"LIAR!"

He lifted her up only to hit her again.

"No, stop! _Please_!"

He picked her up by the throat and squeezed tightly. She began to choke and splutter, and just as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, a voice shouted from behind him.

"STOP!"

He dropped her to the ground, where she lay still.

"_Incarcerous_!"

The spell hit him before he could react, and scorching hot ropes wound their way up his arms. He couldn't move, couldn't say a thing…but his arms were on fire….

Ron's eyes flew open as he sat up and waved his arms about in a wild attempt to cool them off.

His nightmare had left him in a cold sweat but the scars on his arms felt the same as they did on the night he received them.

But after a few minutes they cooled down, so much so that he was able to move his curtains aside to reach for the water beside his bed.

"Trouble sleeping?"

Ron nearly fell out of the bed.

"Merlin, Harry, are you trying to kill me?"

"You didn't answer my question."

Ron tried to relax as he reached out for the water at his bedside table once again.

"I'm fine, mate, just a nightmare."

But Harry grabbed Ron's arm as it reached for his water.

"What…Ron, what is this?"

Ron snatched his arm from Harry's and retreated back into the safety of his four-poster.

"It's nothing, Harry…they get a little inflamed sometimes…."

"A _little_? Ron, they look the same way they did your first day in the hospital wing!"

Ron looked down at his tender skin, following the raw scars that wound their way up his arms.

"It's funny, Harry. I didn't used to have many dreams at all…but since these came along," he said, lifting his arms up in the air fruitlessly, "I have these nightmares all the time. And they're not even _my_ nightmares…according to Madame Pomfrey, they belong to whoever's brain got a hold of me.

"My scars always get irritated after I have a nightmare…she said it would happen for a while, but they'll become less frequent as time goes on."

Harry was silent for a while, so much so that Ron had thought he had gone back to sleep. He was about to roll over and try to do so himself when Harry spoke out again.

"So that's why you've been wearing long sleeves? Even when it's been as hot as it is?"

It was true. Ron had been hiding his scars the past three days to avoid awkward stares and disgusted looks. It was bad enough that they looked gross, without everyone wondering where they had come from.

"I don't think you should hide them."

Ron quirked an eyebrow at Harry.

"Harry, just because you have a small, cool-shaped scar on your forehead doesn't mean the rest of us with big nasty burn scars want to show the world."

"Hang on," Harry replied, holding his hands up in a defensive position. "I didn't mean that you should put them on display or anything…but I hope you're not ashamed of them."

"_Your_ scar shows people that you beat the most evil wizard in existence; _my_ scars show people that I'm completely useless in battle and that I'm an idiot. How exactly am I supposed to not be ashamed of these things?"

"Useless? How could you possibly think that?"

"I got Ginny, Luna, and I separated from you guys, I couldn't protect my younger sister when that Death Eater grabbed her, I got hit by a spell that made me completely loopy, and as a result I summoned a brain to myself, which resulted in these," Ron said, sticking out his arms for emphasis.

Harry was quiet again, and Ron took that as a sign of him finally winning the argument, meaning he could go to sleep once again.

"My scar shows people that I'm lucky. Your scars show people that I'm the idiot, not you."

Ron sighed heavily, realizing Harry was not willing to let this go so easily.

"How do you mean?"

"I was a year old. If Voldemort had tried to strangle me with his own hands instead of trying to kill me with a spell, I wouldn't be here talking to you. And if I had used Occlumency, I would have realized that Sirius wasn't in the Department of Mysteries, and none of this would have happened to you."

"Harry, they're just burns…they're not that big of a deal," Ron replied immediately, putting into action the plan he and Hermione had come up with during their days in the hospital wing on how to handle Harry should he blame himself for their injuries.

"You think so, yeah? Then what's wrong with wearing short sleeves tomorrow, for a change?"

Ron put a hand to his forehead and smiled wryly; Harry had won.

"So why are you up so late giving me fashion advice? I didn't wake you up, did I?"

Harry took off his glasses and slid back under the covers.

"I figured it'd be nice to give advice to the one having the nightmares for a change," he answered with a smile.

* * *

"So…moral?"

"Brain burns give you nightmares?"

Ron sighed, wondering if his daughter had paid any attention at all to what he had said.

"No," he replied, as he moved to the sink to turn on the tap. "Come on; let's get that gunk out of your hair."

Rosie moved under the sink and for the next few minutes, Ron's fingertips turned wrinkly as he washed the potion out of his daughter's hair.

"Hey Dad, I beat Mrs. Puckle in less than twenty moves!" Hugo shouted as he entered the bathroom, but stopped at the doorway as he saw his father and sister. "Whoa…what happened to you, Rosie?"

"I was trying something different with my hair is all," Rosie tried to reply huffily, but all she got for her troubles was a bump on the head as her head accidentally hit the tap.

Hugo raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Why? What's wrong with your hair? It looks like Mommy's."

Ron smiled at his son before looking down at Rosie. She was frowning in thought, as trying to work out a math problem. Something must have clicked, for the frown was gone to replace a grin of her own.

"It does," Rosie said suspiciously, as if trying to decide whether this was an insult or not. "What's wrong with that?"

"N-nothing!" Hugo said, clearly confused with his sister's defensive attitude. "I like it!"

Ron stepped aside with a small smile on his lips as his daughter looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her sopping auburn hair was already curling as she, too, smiled.

"Thank you, Hugo," she replied as she went over to hug her brother.

"Eww, gross, you're dripping all over me!" he replied as he squirmed out of the hug to hide behind his father.

"Hey, don't include me in this!" Ron said, sidestepping around his son so Rosie had an open target.

"Come back here!" Rosie shouted as her brother dashed out the bathroom before she could grab him. "I want a kiss too!"

Hugo's gag was heard from the hall.

"Thanks, Dad," Rosie said, hugging Ron tightly, before turning to chase her brother out the door.

Ron shook his head, confused by the scene, but in no way upset by it. He heard the front door open and close from downstairs.

"What _is_ going on here?"

Ron followed after his children out of the room and down the stairs to meet his wife at the front door. She had her hands on her hips as she gave her husband an amused look.

"Why is Rosie hunting Hugo down for a cuddle?" she asked, seeming just as confused and happy as Ron was about it.

He shrugged before going over to give her a kiss and a cuddle of his own.

"Welcome home."

* * *

A/n: Please tell me what you think! And expect another update this weekend for a Tale of Fathers- just in time for Father's Day! ;)

Thanks as always to those who have reviewed. I truly appreciate your support!

P.S.: Mistress of Craziness, I especially appreciate your review. Thanks for taking the time to write, and I hope this chapter had enough Hugo in it for you! Don't worry, next chapter has more Hugo focus, like this chapter had Rosie focus. I love Hugo...there's no way I'd ever ignore him!


	4. Fathers

A/n: You know, I feel as if I should celebrate today, given what this story's about and whatnot.

Oh, I've got a way to celebrate! New chapter! :D

Quick dedication: To my Daddy, cause I love you! (Even though you won't read this… :P)

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 4: The Tale of Fathers**

Today was going to be a good day.

Ron had finally closed the case on an old warlock who kept trying to send rather nasty items via owl post to Minister Shacklebolt. He was pretty lucky to find him when he did too, for the next letter the old coot was planning to send would have somehow contained a flesh-eating acid.

And now it was a glorious Saturday morning, Hermione was making breakfast in the kitchen, and the whole house smelled like sausages.

It was _definitely _going to be a good day.

CRASH

"I didn't do it!"

Well, at least the house still smelled like sausages.

"Ron, will you go see what that was?" Hermione called from the kitchen.

"Yeah, I got it," Ron said as he bounded up the stairs in search of the source of the damage.

Just as he reached the top of the staircase, he found the culprit run out of the study. Hugo looked up at his father with wide, chocolate brown eyes.

"Oh, hi Dad…is breakfast ready?" he asked innocently, while trying to inconspicuously close the door behind him.

"What were you doing in my office, son?" Ron asked in an equally innocent way.

"Just…just petting Pig," Hugo said, and Ron could see him discreetly try to hide his right hand.

"I heard a crash…is everything all right?"

The young child looked up at his father, looking scared for a split second before flashing a wide smile.

"Yeah, sure Dad," he replied smoothly.

"Well, you want to play a game of chess before breakfast?"

"Yeah, cool!" Hugo sounded genuinely excited.

"Okay, let's get the set," Ron said, smiling slightly, as he stepped around his son to get inside the office.

"Ah, wait Dad!" Hugo nearly shouted, evidently forgetting the chess set was kept in his father's study. "L-let me get it and we can play downstairs!"

"It's okay, Hugo, I'll get it," Ron replied, opening the door and looking for the source of his son's distress.

He laughed to himself as he entered the room and had a look around. The ugly old vase that Hermione's Great Aunt Gertrude had given them as a wedding gift was missing from the bookshelf it normally sat on, and shards of it had haphazardly been swept under the area rug.

"Oh no!" he said in a tone that he knew was overly melodramatic.

Hugo looked at his father with frightened eyes once again.

"Wha-what is it Dad?"

"Great Auntie Gertrude's vase is missing!"

Hugo continued to look scared, knowing what was to come.

"Someone must have stolen it!"

Hugo did a double take.

"Huh?"

"Well sure, son; I see a lot of this in my job. You see," Ron said in a conspiratorial whisper, as he moved toward the open window, "the thief probably flew up to the window, opened it with an unlocking charm, stole the vase, and flew back out!"

Hugo could only stare as he absorbed this long-winded explanation.

"Well, I'm going to have to head into work and get the whole Auror squad in for this one…." Ron said, having to suppress a smile at the completely baffled look on his son's face. "Who knows how long this investigation will take…."

"Dad! You can't…it's Saturday! And…a-and maybe it wasn't stolen!" Hugo said in a rush, clearly displeased at this turn of events.

Ron quirked an eyebrow as he turned away from the door to look his son in the eyes. "Oh really?"

"Well…maybe…it got," Hugo searched the room avidly, thinking of something to say, "…lost?"

Hugo looked up with what he thought was a winning smile. Seeing his father's knowing smirk, though, he realized he had been caught. "Sorry Dad. I let Pig out of his cage and he knocked it over."

Ron nodded in understanding. Poor old Pig was nearly blind, and would thus fly into something nearly every time he was let out of his cage. He was still as energetic as he was back in his prime, but it was decided that he was no longer allowed to send post anymore.

"Where is Pig?" Ron asked, realizing the little gray owl wasn't in his cage.

"He flew out the window," Hugo said, pointing to the open window. "I'm sorry Dad; I was going to tell you, but I thought you'd be mad. So I was gonna fix it later…."

Ron glanced out, but couldn't find a trace of his little feathered friend.

"Ah, well, he'll turn up soon enough," Ron said, turning away from the window and going toward the slightly concealed broken vase.

"And it's okay son; I'm not mad," Ron continued while taking out his wand. He muttered a quick _Reparo_ before looking back at Hugo. He was still holding his right hand behind his back.

"Let me see it," Ron replied gently, kneeling down and holding out his hand.

Hugo went over and brought out his hand to reveal a shallow cut that was bleeding slightly. Ron cast a quick healing charm and looked at his son's upset face.

"You know…this reminds me of a time when—"

"Oh, Dad, no…not another story!" Hugo asked, now looking pained. "Haven't I suffered enough?"

"Hey," Ron replied with a grin, "you do the crime, you do the time." Ron's smile broadened as his son groaned.

"Now, right before your Uncle Harry and mum and I went off to search for Horcruxes, I had a chat with Granddad Weasley…."

* * *

Ron stared at the slimy, bald creature, and knew this was going to be impossible.

He'd tried everything he could think of; Glamour Charms, the Hives Hex, and even the Hair-Thickening Charm, but there was just no way he would ever get this ghoul to turn into a passable Ron Weasley.

"Dammit," he muttered, kicking a box aside and sitting on the floor. "Why isn't this working?"

"Why isn't what working, son?"

Ron's neck nearly snapped. He whipped around to see his father standing at the top of the staircase, a small smile on his face.

"Oh, hey Dad…is lunch ready yet?" Ron asked, deflecting the question with one of his own.

"What're you doing up here, Ron?" Arthur returned, giving his youngest son a calculating look.

"Just…just looking for…" Ron quickly dug his hand into the box he had kicked aside moments ago and grabbed the first thing he touched, "this!"

Arthur chuckled, and Ron, glancing at the stuffed spider he was holding, gave a surprised shout and threw it back into the box.

"Why does mum still have that?" he roared, inching far away from the box. The old stuffed spider had once belonged to Percy, before Ron became arachnophobic and screamed whenever it and Percy where in the same room as him.

"Well, some might say I have an infatuation with Muggle devices," Arthur said, walking further into the attic, "but I've got nothing on your mother's desire to keep her children's baby things. She would've collected your used nappies if I didn't stop her."

Ron laughed, quite certain that a collection like that would just be one more good reason to avoid the attic altogether.

"So, son, what are you trying to do to our resident ghoul?"

Ron grimaced as he looked down on the smelly old creature, and frowning even more so as it looked up at him and drooled. "I just…." Ron looked back at his father, quite unsure of what his reaction might be regarding the Horcrux hunt with Harry and Hermione.

"Does this have to do with Harry?" his father asked, clearly reading his mind.

"Dad…I have to go. Harry's…" Ron took a steadying breath and, after receiving a knowing smile from his father, continued.

"Dumbledore left Harry a job to do before he died. So after the wedding Harry, Hermione, and I are going to go take care of that job. And You-Know-Who can't be defeated until after this job is done, so…so…I have to go. I have to help," Ron replied in a rush, trying to get it all out in one.

Arthur gave his son another calculating look before asking, "Can I help?"

Ron shook his head. "No, Dad."

The two shared a silence, where Ron stood uncomfortably against the shrewd look of his father.

"Let me see it."

"Huh?" Ron asked, confused.

"What you're doing to the ghoul; let me see it," Arthur replied, pointing at the ghoul lying behind Ron.

"Oh, well, I've been trying some Glamour Charms…to get him to look like me," Ron replied, stepping aside as his father walked up behind him. "I was going to put him in my room. That way, when I don't go back to Hogwarts and people come by asking for me, you or mum could just say I'm sick and show them up to my room."

"I think we might need some help on this one, son," Arthur replied, getting a good look at the now moaning ghoul. "I know a few guys who are pretty good at Glamour Charms."

"You do?" Ron asked, looking surprised.

"Well, it was your brothers who brewed a Flawless Aging Potion."

"Yeah, and look how well that turned out," but Ron smiled, knowing that now this wasn't so impossible.

* * *

"Moral of the story?"

Hugo looked up into his father's face with a wry smile.

"Dads know too much."

Ron smiled and nodded.

"That's right."

"Breakfast!" Hermione called up from the kitchen.

"Finally!" Hugo and Ron shouted back, before looking at each other and laughing.

They raced each other down the stairs, determined to beat the other to the breakfast table.

"What'd you break?" Hermione asked her son as they ran into the kitchen.

"Great Auntie Gertrude's vase," Hugo answered, but only after a mock celebration at beating his dad to the table. "But Dad fixed it."

"You know, if you and your sister would just come to us with your problems right away, you two wouldn't get into so much troub—" Hermione started to lecture, but was interrupted by a loud THUMP, followed by a shriek from the hallway.

"Merlin, what was that?" Hermione asked, startled.

"Mum!" Rosie exclaimed from the hallway. "Pig ran into the front door again!"

Hugo and Ron barely had time to glance at each other before bursting out into laughter.

Ron was right after all. It was going to be a good day.

* * *

A/n: I hope you enjoyed this fluffy, fatherific chapter!

Well, I've started working, so updates will be slower than before. Sorry, guys, but an eight to five job wipes me out. I'm trying my best, given that I've finished a third of the next chapter already. We'll see what happens.

Latest day I'll update will be two weeks from now, and earliest will probably be…next weekend. But, really, the true thing that makes me want to update are reviews! So PLEASE review! I'll love you forever!

Speaking of…thanks so much to my reviewers! I love you! I'm glad you liked the last chapter, and I hope you love this new one! Cookies for all of you and your daddies!

-dieselwriter

P.S.: Happy Father's Day!

P.P.S.: No, Great Auntie Gertrude has no relation to the books. She's completely noncanon…but for some reason I imagine her a bit like Ron's Great Auntie Muriel. O.o? I bet we'll be seeing her again in an upcoming chapter. ;)

P.P.P.S.: Sorry about the lack of Rosie in this chapter…but the last chapter had quite a bit of her, so it was Hugo's turn!


	5. Time

**A/n:** Sorry, guys, I'm a day late, but I do have a longer chapter than usual to make up for it!

Just a warning: the flashback contains more bad language, because Ron and Hermione are angsty teenagers. :P

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 5: The Tale of Time**

Rosie had her father's temper.

"We are _not_ going to be late, Dad! We've still got an hour!"

A children's Quidditch league had been set up a few years after the second Wizarding War ended. As such, Rosie's temper was quite useful when she played Beater on her Quidditch team.

"It takes a half hour to get to the field!"

"And then what? We just twiddle our thumbs for another half hour and wait?"

"Well, what if there's car trouble? Or traffic?"

"We have MAGIC! We can use MAGIC!"

However, Rosie's temper also got her into quite a bit of trouble.

"_I_ can use magic, but not when there's Muggles all around watching! Now get in the CAR!"

Rosie wrenched the back door open and climbed in, slamming the door right behind her.

"Well?" Ron glared heatedly at his wife, who shrugged nonchalantly and followed her daughter into car with much more grace.

"HUGO!" Ron roared into the house, still irate.

"Coming, Dad!" Hugo shouted as he bounded down the porch stairs and entered the backseat beside his sister.

Ron magically locked the front door of the house before entering into the passengers' seat in the car, not quite controlling his anger enough as he slammed the car door shut.

The foursome drove off in silence, with Rosie staring resolutely out the window, fuming silently. Ron's jaw was clenched as he too glanced out the window. Hermione kept her eyes on the road, determinedly fighting off a smile. Hugo watched his father and sister curiously for a few minutes before breaking the silence.

"So, Mom, can we still stop for ice cream after the game?"

"I don't know Hugo…if these two can't behave, I'm not sure we'll be able to go," Hermione replied, giving her husband a sly grin.

Hugo elbowed his sister. "Rosie!" he hissed in her ear. "Apologize!"

"I'm not apologizing!" she returned quietly. "He yelled at me!"

"You yelled at him first!" Hugo whispered back furiously. "Apologize, so we can get ice cream after the game!"

But Rose folded her arms across her chest and continued to glare outside the window.

Another minute passed in silence before Ron broke it.

"You know what this reminds me of…."

Hugo, who was initially happy that his father had finally talked, now looked exceedingly displeased.

"No! No, Rosie, apologize now, before Dad tells another story!"

Rosie's frown twitched momentarily but she said nothing.

"I used to be late to class all the time when I was at Hogwarts," Ron started, ignoring what his youngest child had said.

"I don't see why _I_ have to be punished too," Hugo grumbled, sinking into the seat beside his sister.

"And," Ron pushed on, "I found out one time that there are very good reasons to be late for class."

* * *

Despite the fact that Ron's 17th birthday was only a day away, he could not have been in worse spirits.

He had Apparition lessons planned, which he would properly botch up, Hermione was still distant despite his attempts to start civilized conversations with her, and he and Lavender were now having a bit of down time.

It had actually started ever since he had returned from Christmas; he wasn't sure why he was avoiding his own girlfriend now, but all he knew was that he couldn't stand to have her hanging on him every second he had free time.

And that was why he found himself heading to Defense Against the Dark Arts alone. He had chosen this path to purposefully avoid Lavender, but it also kept him out of the path of most other students. So when he heard a familiar voice off another hall, he made a detour to check it out. He did have 10 minutes before class started after all.

"Cormac, I told you I wasn't interested!"

"C'mon, 'Mione, don't be like that."

"That is NOT my name!"

Ron felt his blood boiling as he peeked around the corner to see Hermione staring down a bemused Cormac McLaggen.

"Look, I'm sorry, all right?" Cormac pleaded, holding his hands out defensively. "You just completely left me at Slughorn's party; I want an explanation."

"I'm not interested," Hermione repeated in a no nonsense tone. "Just leave me alone."

"You were all over me before—" Cormac replied angrily, but Ron doubted he could be angrier than he felt at hearing those words.

"I'm sorry I led you on," Hermione said, trying to maneuver around him but to no avail—he was rather bulky in the narrow hallway. "What do you want from me?"

Cormac gave her a scathing look before shoving his hands deep into his pocket and stepping aside. "Something you're obviously not willing to give."

Hermione looked at him in confusion before sighing and walking past.

"Is it Weasley?"

Ron felt all the air leave his lungs as Hermione froze on the spot.

"It is, isn't it? You used me."

It was the calm before the storm, and everyone present in the hallway could tell. Cormac's fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning just as white as Ron's already were, and Hermione turned back to face Cormac with a stern look.

"This has nothing to do with Ron," she replied evenly.

"Bullshit," Cormac spat back. "This has everything to do with him. That son of a—"

"You have NO right!" Hermione shouted at him, her face bright red. "You have _no_ right," she repeated quietly, threateningly, "to say anything about him."

"And you have no right to use me to make him jealous!" he shouted.

"I didn't _use_ you—"

"You invited me to Slughorn's party—I did _you_ a favor by going with you—and then you ditched me! You and Weasley have been rowing and you just picked me to go to that party because he hates me!"

"You did _me_ a _favor_!" Hermione retorted shrilly. "Talk about bullshit—"

"And now you're splitting hairs," McLaggen fumed. "Does it matter? You took me and left me. Tell me this isn't about Weasley!"

Hermione was about to reply when he interrupted again.

"Be honest, Hermione; you're a crap liar."

She gave him a resolute glare before crumbling.

"I'm sorry you feel like I used you," Hermione said, actually sounding sincere. "I had no intention of hurting you. But this _isn't_ about Ron, so don't bring him into it."

Her softened voice seemed to soothe Cormac a bit; his knuckles returned to a shade closer to his actual skin color as his fists unclenched.

"'Mione," he said, stepping forward to get in a cringing Hermione's way again, "why don't we go somewhere more…_private_…so we can talk this- _us_- over."

Hermione looked extremely startled by this abrupt change in conversation.

"Private?"

"Yeah, maybe the library. I know how much you like the library," he said silkily, mistaking Hermione's reluctance as playing hard to get.

"Cormac, we've already had this discussion," she said, but both Ron and Cormac could hear the tremor in her voice.

"You mean _you've_ had this discussion," Cormac replied, some of the anger returned. "Whenever 'we' talk it always seems you do all the talking and I do all the listening."

Despite the situation, Ron understood where Cormac was coming from in that regard.

"I don't know how many times I can tell you that I'm not interested!" Hermione sounded exasperated now.

"You owe me," Cormac replied, equally frustrated. "For leaving me at that party by myself; I looked a fool!"

Ron smiled at his internal retort for that remark, but Hermione interrupted his thoughts.

"I'm sorry; I'm not interested. Leave me alone!"

And Hermione once again tried to get around Cormac, but he purposefully blocked her path easily.

"No."

Hermione looked huffily up in his face. Ron saw her fingers itching toward her wand but she refrained.

"What do you _want_, Cormac?"

His teeth ground together in consternation and he pounded his fist into the wall beside him.

"Go out with me. Give us a chance."

"No."

The two stared each other down as Ron decided enough was enough. He doubled back a little ways down the hallway before turning right back around and running full speed toward Hermione and McLaggen.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he hissed, deciding to play his part correctly.

"What's that?" he heard Cormac murmur.

"It sounds like...," Hermione started.

"Snape's gonna kill…me…" Ron rounded the corner and halted as he ran into the couple.

"Ron," Hermione whispered.

Ron was about to reply before Cormac stepped in front of her.

"What do you want, Weasley?" he snarled.

"Getting to class," he growled back before turning to Hermione with a slightly softer tone. "You coming?"

She gave him a very shrewd look before nodding her head and shifting her books to her hip.

"We'll finish this discussion _later_, Cormac," she informed the angry McLaggen as she successfully moved around him and headed down the hall.

McLaggen looked ready to strike Ron but he contented himself by cracking his knuckles menacingly.

Ron flashed him a smile before following after Hermione. Cormac continued to gnash his teeth but didn't say anything as they left.

Hermione must have picked up speed after turning the corner, because it took Ron a few minutes to catch up with her.

"You certainly took the scenic route to get to class," Hermione said as Ron advanced.

"Yeah, just trying to escape—umm, I mean, you know, always nice to explore the castle," Ron amended, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"You didn't hear anything back there, did you?" Hermione sent him an icy glare as they turned a corner.

"What? Of course not," Ron answered, hoping he sounded properly scandalized at her claim. "I'm not one to eavesdrop on a private conversation."

Hermione continued to glare at him, as if trying to find the hidden meaning in what he said. He stared resolutely forward, not used to Hermione paying this much attention to him.

"So," Hermione broke the silence after a few minutes, "any big plans for your birthday this weekend?"

Ron stopped a moment, wondering if Hermione had actually spoken at all. The look she gave him told him she had, so he walked again, still quite shocked at having addressed him in a civilized manner.

"Nothing big," Ron said, "Apparition lessons, but not much else. Maybe I'll sneak Harry down to Hogsmeade and we'll get a pint at the Hogs Head."

Ron had meant it to be a joke, but Hermione must have missed the humor in his voice (it had been quite a while since they last conversed).

"Ron, Harry could get into _serious_ trouble if he drank underage! And considering what happened the last time we went to Hogsmeade, I would think you'd at least think about poor Katie Bell housed up in St. Mungo's before dragging Harry back there."

"Are you serious?" Ron asked after a brief moment of absorbing Hermione's mini tirade. "You can be the biggest…."

"The biggest _what_, Ronald?" Hermione goaded, pulling out his full name from her arsenal of insults to incite him most affectively.

He didn't want to answer, but she had such a smug expression that he couldn't help himself.

"You can be the biggest _bitch_ sometimes."

"Well," she spluttered, knowing that that was what he had wanted to say, but disbelieving that he'd actually said it, "you can certainly be a big arse most of the time."

Despite the fact she had meant it to be a serious insult, Ron grinned.

"That's twice I've heard you swear today, Hermione. What's become of you?"

"I've only sworn once in front of…" she stopped, glaring at him with such intensity that Ron lost his grin with a flinch.

"You WERE spying on us!" she shrieked, making Ron flinch again with the ferocity behind her words.

"Well that's what you get for having private conversations in the middle of corridors," Ron returned, walking on toward the classroom.

Hermione didn't say another word during their trip to the classroom; she instead spent her time boring a hole into the back of Ron's head with a heated glare.

They walked into Snape's classroom late, and most heads turned in surprise as they entered together.

"Let's see, two Gryffindors five minutes late; better make it 10 points from Gryffindor," Snape said silkily as the two found seats far away from the other. "And perhaps," he continued, noticing the icy coolness between the two, "detention. Sunday night, eight o'clock, my office."

Ron vented his contempt at having to do a detention the day after his birthday by nearly ripping his quill apart while taking it out of his bag. Hermione stopped glaring at Ron a moment to look properly ashamed for being late.

Snape smiled in evil delight before turning back to the lesson.

* * *

"You never made up that detention, did you?"

Ron rolled his eyes before giving his wife a half grin.

"That's not the moral of the story."

"Sorry," Hermione returned her attention to the road, a smirk on her face.

Ron refrained from giving another roll of his eyes and instead turned around in his seat to face his daughter and son. "So?"

"You can be late to class if you save Mum from socially awkward conversations," Hugo answered chirpily.

But Rosie had finally stopped staring out the window long enough to give her father a serious look.

"How did you get out of detention with Snape?"

"_Professor_ Snape," Hermione interrupted out of habit.

"Right, well, how did you get out of detention with him then?"

"Got poisoned on my birthday," Ron replied, making a face and sticking out his tongue at Hugo.

"Mum was so mad at you she poisoned you?" Rosie asked incredulously, as her brother laughed at the absurd expression on his father's face.

"No!" Hermione replied defensively as Ron joined in with Hugo's laughter.

"It was an accident," Ron said with a chuckle. "And then your Uncle Harry got in trouble with Snape—"

"_Professor_ Snape," Hermione interrupted again.

"_Snape_," Ron repeated emphatically, "and served detention until the end of the year. Snape was so happy he forgot about making sure I got punished."

"Poor Uncle Harry," Hugo said sympathetically.

The rest of the ride passed in relative silence and they were soon piling out of the car and heading toward the field.

"Rosie, come here and help me with this junk," Ron said, trying to gather all of her Quidditch equipment in his arms.

She doubled back and grabbed her Beater's bat as well as her broom out of his hands. Hermione and Hugo continued on as Rosie and Ron brought up the rear, staggering under all the weight of the gear.

"Y'know, you never figured out my moral," Ron said.

Rosie adopted the same somber expression she showed him in the car.

"It's okay to be late if it's for a good reason," she said after a while.

"And?" Ron supplied, quirking an eyebrow at her.

She looked confusedly at him, however.

"And…umm…Mum's got bad taste in boyfriends other than you?" she said, quite sure that wasn't the answer he wanted to hear.

He smiled at her though.

"Well, yes, that is true," he laughed as Hermione looked over her shoulder long enough to roll her eyes at them. "But I was going to say that we have different ideas in being on time, right?"

Rosie just nodded so Ron continued.

"Just because we don't see eye-to-eye on the matter doesn't mean we should fight over it. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Daddy," Rosie said, smiling back.

"Yes!" Hugo shouted to the surprise of the rest of the family. "Now we get ice cream after the game, right Mum?"

Rose laughed as she poked her brother in the back with her broom.

"Don't you pay attention, Hugo? You're not supposed to eavesdrop on private conversations."

"Don't hold your private conversations in the middle of Quidditch fields then!"

Ron and Hermione laughed as Rosie spent the remaining half hour before the game by chasing her brother around the field with her bat.

* * *

A/n: Woohoo! Another chapter done!

Thanks to all my wonderful, super, splendiferous reviewers! I hope you enjoyed my latest chapter!

Any grammar mistakes can be attributed to me watching The Mole while editing. :P I can't help myself; I love that show!

My next update will hopefully be this weekend, but if that doesn't work out I'll definitely have one up the weekend after that. Sorry guys, the only reason I was able to update at all this week was that I'm off of work for a week. Boo working! :(

So yeah, let me know what you thought of this chapter! Too long? Too boring? Too awesome? Review, please! I'll love ya forever!

-dieselwriter


	6. Practice

**A/n**: Sorry it's been so long, guys, but I've been working on a few other projects, if my newest fic _Indomitable_ is any proof. I've also just gotten finished with summer work, so now I can dedicate more time to writing! Hurray!

On with the next chapter!

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 6: The Tale of Practice**

Ron loved his Sunday evenings.

Rosie and Hugo were playing chess on the kitchen table, Hermione was reading beside them, and Ron was busy trying not to burn their dinner.

Ron wasn't the best cook by far, but having Molly Weasley for a mother must have helped some. The kids at least didn't seem to mind his cooking nearly as much as, in the few times her services were required, Mrs. Puckle's.

He had just peeled the last of the potatoes when he heard something he hadn't heard in quite a while.

"Checkmate."

Rosie beamed in delight as Hermione looked over at their game in mild surprise. Hugo searched the chessboard in confusion. After a few frantic sweeps of the board, he realized what had happened.

Older sister had beaten younger brother.

Ron couldn't even remember the last time Rosie had beaten Hugo in chess. In fact, the only people who really gave Hugo a challenge most of the time were Ron himself and the one who had taught Ron chess: his brother Percy.

"Good game, Rosie," Hermione congratulated.

But Ron was concentrated on Hugo's reaction.

"Yeah," Hugo replied in a distant voice. His eyebrows were furrowed still but he smiled. "Good game."

"I was just lucky," Rosie said modestly.

"Nah, you did…really well," Hugo said, still in a far away tone. "I've gotta… go grab something real quick."

The disappointment was evident on his face as he exited the kitchen. The distant echoes of his footsteps on the stairs told Ron he was headed up to his room.

"He's mad at me," Rosie muttered, looking forlornly at the chessboard.

"He's not," Ron replied, ruffling her hair affectionately. "I'll be back."

And with that Ron followed the steps of his son, out of the kitchen, up the staircase and into his bedroom.

Hugo was sitting on his bed, frustration etched all over his face.

"Hey Hugo," Ron said, venturing into the room. "You okay?"

Hugo's hands were busy rifling through old Muggle chess books his Uncle Percy had bought him for his last birthday.

"Yeah Dad," he said distractedly, never raising his eyes from the books.

"What are you looking for?" Ron asked, sitting at the edge of his son's bed.

"Answers."

Ron rolled his eyes.

"For what?"

Hugo did look up this time for a brief moment.

"For why I lost."

Ron studied his son thoughtfully as he returned to roving through the books.

"Sometimes," Ron finally said as he leaned over and took one of the books from Hugo, "you can't find answers in books."

The resemblance to his mother was uncanny as Hugo looked scandalized at his father.

"Dad," he said in a tone that suggested he were trying to explain Quidditch to a dense Muggle child, "these guys are _professional_ chess players. That is why they have _books_. If they don't have the answers, who does?"

"You know…" Ron started, a far-off look on his face as he remembered a similar conversation once before, "this reminds me—"

Hugo, who had been looking doubtful at his father, now looked highly apologetic.

"No- no Dad, I'm sorry….I believe you! Just please, no stories…."

"Ah, come on, you'll like this one!"

Hugo snorted in disbelief and looked even more doubtful as his father began his story.

* * *

This was going to be a disaster.

He coughed and waved the smoke away from his face. His eyes stung as he squinted through the smoke to find the window. The smoke alarm blared loudly as he finally reached and opened the window.

Who was he kidding? This was _already_ a disaster.

Black smoke billowed out the window, cleaning the kitchen and finally allowing Ron a way to see the oven. He rushed over, opening the oven and grabbing the dish. He swore as he burned his fingers and dropped the burnt shepherd's pie back in the oven.

The doorbell rang just as Ron grabbed an oven mitt.

"Come in!" he shouted over the racket that was the smoke alarm.

Hermione entered the kitchen, dressed in a form-fitting black dress, as Ron finally pulled the dish from the oven.

"Oh, Ron, what have you done?" were her first words. Her next was a "_Silencio_!" aimed at the smoke alarm, effectively cutting it off mid-ring.

Ron turned the oven off before glaring at his girlfriend.

"I was _trying_ to make dinner."

"I thought we were going out for dinner?" she asked in confusion.

"We always go out for dinner," he said in reply, taking out a knife in attempt to scrape off the burnt edges. "I wanted to try something different."

Hermione finally turned to look at Ron properly before bursting out into peals of laughter.

"Wha…wha-what are you _wearing_!" she asked amidst giggles.

Ron frowned as he placed the knife on the table in order to finger his apron affectionately.

"It's how it's done, isn't it?" he asked self-consciously.

Hermione nodded but continued giggling, her face flushed.

"Well," Ron said, flustered by her lack of response, "you…want tomato?"

Hermione could only nod again, as she still shook with silent laughter.

Ron picked the knife back up from the table and started slicing a tomato.

"I spent a whole week trying to make sure I'd get this right," he said as Hermione tried to get a hold of herself. "A week shadowing my Mum in the kitchen, and I burn the- shit!

Ron dropped the knife and sucked on his bleeding finger.

Hermione's giggles ended abruptly as she rushed to his side.

"Ron? Are you okay?"

Ron removed the finger out of his mouth and paled at what he saw. The tip of his finger had been sliced off clean, and he could see a bit of the bone through the wet, warm blood.

"Oh, here Ron; let me see it."

Ron gave his hand over after a brief moment's hesitation. It wasn't that he didn't trust his girlfriend; rather, past experiences gave him slight fear of her Healing capabilities.

"Wha-what're you going to do?" Ron asked as Hermione prodded his finger painfully.

"I've read lots of Healing books on this," she said as she eyed the wound carefully. "It shouldn't be too hard to fix—"

"You've _read_ lots of Healing books?" Ron interrupted nervously. "Have you ever…you know…_done_ it before?"

"Well, in theory, I should—"

"_Theory_!" Ron pulled his hand from Hermione's grip. "In _theory_ you should have been able to fly a broom since you've read so much about it first year, but you were crap at it!"

"Ron, that was seven years ago!" she shouted, clearly stung.

"Well, how about the time I was _Incarcerous_-ed and you ripped my knee up just trying to free me, eh?"

"We had just been attacked by Death Eaters, hadn't we? I wasn't concentrating!"

"How do I know you're concentrating now?"

"Oh, don't be a baby, Ron. Let me see it."

Ron gave his hand back over to Hermione against his better judgment. Her brow knitted as she focused and waved her wand, muttering a spell Ron hadn't heard before.

He sincerely hoped he never heard it again.

"OUCH! Hermione!"

He wrenched his finger out of her grasp immediately as the spell caused the whole thing to sting agonizingly. It throbbed as he cradled it tenderly.

"Well sorry, but I had to disinfect it first!" Hermione replied defensively.

"Can you warn me next time then?" Ron muttered darkly as he gave his hand back reluctantly.

"Okay, this next one should feel like a needle's sewing the skin back on your finger."

Before Ron had the chance to object to this Hermione was muttering another spell. It didn't feel like a needle so much as another knife being stabbed into his finger.

"HERMIONE!"

Ron wrenched his hand away and blew on it as it started to burn as if it had caught fire.

"You haven't sewn it—you've skewered the bloody thing!"

"Skewered it? Oh, don't be so melodramatic Ron!" she shouted, trying to grab his hand back.

"No- NO more! Just conjure me a bandage…it's not bleeding that hard and I'm not having you play Healer on me anymore!"

Ron expected her to blow up after that remark, and he was therefore shocked when she instead took his hand gently, a flirtatious glint in her eye.

"Well, patient Weasley, I think this cut just needs a little T—" she kissed his finger- "L—" she kissed his hand- "C," she kissed the back of his wrist and looked into his eyes, passion burning through.

Ron, not anticipating this at all, paled considerably more and gulped, the pain in his finger forgotten.

"You- you think?"

She smiled seductively and wound her hands around his neck.

"I do."

Ron smiled himself now.

"The books teach you that, yeah?"

Hermione merely nodded and purred as she brought him in for a kiss.

"I like doing something different. You should cook more often."

Ron smiled like a dope as leaned in for another kiss.

* * *

Ron stopped abruptly as Hugo gave him a confused look.

"What's wrong, Dad?" he asked as his father's ears reddened quickly.

Ron averted his eyes, quite unwilling to share any private moments he had had with his wife in front of his son.

"This is!" he said, distracting Hugo as he stuck his finger under his nose.

Hugo smiled bemusedly as he stared at his father's finger.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?"

Ron rolled his eyes as he brought his finger even closer to his son's face.

"Don't you see it? She left a scar!"

Hugo narrowed his eyes as he finally spotted a miniscule scar.

"Dad, that's no worse than the ones on your arms."

"That's not the point!" Ron shouted, retracting his finger. "Do you know what _is_ the point? My moral?"

Hugo frowned in disappointment at having to think through his father's story and how it pertained to his situation.

"Mom's no good at Healing."

"This is true, but it's not a moral."

Hugo's frown deepened as he thought a bit more.

"She's no good at Quidditch either?"

Ron sighed, realizing he was getting nowhere fast.

"And _why_ is she no good at these things?"

"I dunno…she should've read a bit more about it I guess—"

"Nope!" Ron said, perhaps too loudly as Hugo shrunk away in confusion. "That's exactly where she went wrong!"

Hugo continued looking flabbergasted, and Ron smiled.

"Sometimes," he said, looking his son straight in the eye, "the only way you learn to do something is to _do it_. Your mum's great at Healing now that she's had plenty of practice working on you and your sister."

"And you don't burn the house down when you cook anymore," Hugo said with a cheeky grin on his face.

Ron gave him a grimace, but his eyes still held a smile.

"That's because Grandmum Weasley gave me another month's worth of lessons."

Hugo laughed and Ron smiled back at him.

"So you're saying the only way I'll get better at chess is if I practice more?" Hugo asked, a hopeful look in his eye.

"That's exactly what I'm—"

He was interrupted as the smoke alarm wailed loudly from downstairs.

"Oh bullocks," Ron muttered, realizing he had left dinner cooking.

Hugo laughed again as his father swiftly left the room and flew down the stairs.

"Forget something?" Hermione asked amusedly as he ran into the kitchen. She had just taken the dinner out of the oven as he rushed over to silence the alarm.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

Hugo followed after and Hermione and Rosie looked over cautiously at Ron. But Ron determinedly remained silent as he went back to dicing the potatoes, willing to at least salvage a part of his Sunday meal.

Hugo beamed at his sister as he sauntered to where she still sat at the kitchen table.

"Want a rematch?"

Rosie's eyes darted to her father before she returned a smile to her younger brother.

"Wouldn't see why you'd want one…it'll just be embarrassing for you when you lose again."

"You were just lucky last time…Dad's attempts at cooking distracted me."

"Hey!" Ron shouted indignantly, but this only caused his children to giggle as they set up the chessboard once more.

* * *

**A/n: **Well guys, here ends another chapter. I've already got my next chapter idea in mind, and I like where it's going, so with any luck I'll be able to get it up in about a week or so.

Thanks so much to my reviewers- I love you all!

-dieselwriter


	7. Privacy

**A/n**: Hey guys, sorry about the delay in update. The reason? A few, actually. One is that I wrote another new story (_Apple Chunking_, if you're interested). Two is that I've been busy packing, cause I'm going to Boston tomorrow. Three is that this chapter is one I've had in my head for weeks, and I wanted to get it perfect. This could in fact be my favorite chapter to date, so I really hope you enjoy reading it.

I might be extending outside of my realm of happy Weasleys a bit here, but it'd be awful unrealistic if I didn't broaden the horizon a bit. So on that note, please enjoy the next chapter.

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 7: The Tale of Privacy**

It was peaceful in his house.

Too peaceful.

Ron suspiciously peeked from behind the Daily Prophet he was reading to comprehend this abnormality. From his spot on the couch he could see his children's trainers in the hallway, meaning they were inside somewhere. Hermione had practically been living at the Ministry the past few days, desperately trying to get a pro-Pureblood law eradicated once and for all.

To have his kids in the house without their mother around usually meant explosions, both of the physical and verbal variety.

Ron folded his newspaper and sat in the silence, reveling. These sorts of times were quite rare in any Weasley household.

"HUGO! Is that MY JOURNAL?"

Ron flinched as his daughter's piercing screech invaded his tranquility.

"GIVE IT BACK!"

There was a sudden commotion from upstairs as footsteps pounded overhead. He could hear them thunder their way down the stairs and reach the ground floor as the running finally stopped.

"Ow- Rosie, I'm SORRY! OUCH- OW— I'm saying OW! ROSIE!"

"GIVE IT _NOW_!"

"FINE! Ow, I can't move my ARMS! Get OFF!"

Ron made his way to the hallway, where both his children were in a jumble at the foot of the stairs. Rosie was red in the face as she clutched her journal in triumph, and Hugo was on the floor next to her, rubbing his arm and glowering at his sister.

Immediately on seeing their father, both children started shouting.

"Dad, Hugo was in my room—"

"Dad, Rosie hurt my arm—"

"He _stole_ my journal—"

"She yelled at me—"

"And was trying to read it—"

"And she _hurt_ my _arm_—"

"Hold it hold it HOLD IT!" Ron bellowed over his screeching children, causing them both to halt mid-speech.

"You," Ron pointed to Rosie, using his best authoritative tone as he spoke, "do not hurt your brother. And you," he now pointed to Hugo, "do not invade your sister's privacy. Trust me; you do not want to know what she's writing in there."

Brother and sister looked confusedly at her journal before returning their attention to their father.

"I didn't write anything mean," Rosie said defensively.

"Probably not," Ron shrugged, "but that doesn't mean we," here he pointed at both Hugo and himself, "shouldn't disrespect your privacy by reading your diary."

Any respect Rosie had felt for her father was lost in that last word.

"Dad, it's not a _diary_; it's a journal!"

Ron grimaced, recognizing his wife's influence on his daughter.

"Right, sorry," he said, having lost that battle a long time ago. "If your mother's taught me anything, it's to respect her personal space."

Hugo eyed his father shrewdly.

"That sounds like a story, Dad."

"And that's because it is, son," Ron smiled.

He began amidst the moans and groans of his children.

* * *

_She's out talking to him, you know. About you. Probably laughing about you._

Ron fingered the locket around his neck delicately, grimacing and ready to fight what he knew was a losing battle with the Horcrux.

'They're discussing what we're doing next,' he thought, not in the mood. His arm gave a painful twinge, but it had been weeks ago since he had Splinched himself.

_She's kissed him…how many times now? Ha, you can't even keep count. And that's with you right next to them. How many times d'you think she's done it in private with him?_

Determined to ignore both the nasty voice echoing in his skull and the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he let his eyes wander to settle on the contents of Hermione's magical purse, which had fallen over earlier.

_And she's kissed you once. A pity kiss, really, if you think about it. Hard for you, I know._

Ron couldn't help but snort after that particular thought.

'That was clever, really; Fred and George would be proud.'

_That's assuming they're not dead yet._

His insides froze as he stared at a small, leather-bound notebook.

_So how confident are you?_

Her parents had given it to her for a birthday present before their fourth year. Something to keep notes in….

_Private notes…don't you want to know what she thinks of you? Of Harry?_

He couldn't; Hermione's journal was off-limits. She'd be furious if she came in and found him reading it.

_Put it to rest. You owe it to yourself to find the truth._

He could just _ask_ her how he felt; he didn't need to read it. Besides, there probably wasn't anything like that written in it anyway.

_You're a coward. You won't ever ask her…you're just afraid to find out._

He wasn't aware of moving until his hands had grasped the journal. He stopped, finding himself, and dropped it back to the floor. He slid beside it, eyeing it and then the locket with increased trepidation.

_You don't even know what you want. The truth is right in front of you. All you have to do is read it. Even you can do that much. It's either this or ask her yourself. Be careful on the way out the tent- you might interrupt her and Harry._

The sick feeling was back; he grabbed the journal and flipped open the front page. He ignored the guilt as Hermione's neat handwriting stared up at him from the page.

'The Journal of Hermione Granger. Began Chronicling October 31, 1994,' he read, unsure as to why Hermione had started her journal over a month after receiving it.

_Well, that was the day Harry was picked as a Hogwarts Champion, wasn't it? Of course she'd want to write about her love earning such a great honor._

Ron flipped through the book, ignoring the voice and the beginning of the diary entirely. He was intent on getting to the end, where her current and sincerest feelings would reside. However, a word caught his eye as he was flipping.

'Cheat?'

_Cheat? On who?_

The normally cool, confident voice sounded interested, and slightly nervous, and that spurred Ron to turn back to find the page he had seen that word written on. He found it quickly and read the page hungrily, ready to finally win against the voice.

'I helped Ron cheat today.'

Ron frowned in confusion. He couldn't remember a time Hermione had ever broken down enough to help him cheat on a homework assignment. She wouldn't even let him copy her most of the times, and even then she wouldn't have called it cheating. He checked the date at the corner of the page: September 20, 1996. He thought a moment, trying to remember why that date seemed significant, but decided to turn back to Hermione's script after coming up empty handed.

'McLaggen kept shooting his mouth off, talking about Ron and Ginny. I snapped; I couldn't help it. And there was no way I would let that prat beat my friend, so I Confunded him.'

The journal dropped back to the floor and Ron scooted back several inches away from it. He felt wrong, contaminated; those words had been engraved into his skull, and the only benefit he could see to this new feeling was that the voice had finally been silenced.

It had won once again.

He wasn't even sure what hurt more. Hermione had had no faith in him, feeling it necessary to cheat for him rather than win the position himself. And then there was the fact that he felt exceedingly dense…hadn't he even said that McLaggen seemed Confunded that day to Harry and Hermione? But Ron was pretty sure he knew why it hurt so much.

Friend. He was just her friend. Friends didn't go through half of what they had gone through together. Friends didn't go off on dangerous Horcrux missions. Friends didn't love as much as he loved her.

And it sunk in even more as he remembered what had happened that evening, how he had entered the Great Hall alone, had to double back and demand what his friends were doing without him…he even saw their guilty faces as they said 'nothing' defensively…nervously….

Friend. As long as he sat here in the dark while his two best friends were on the outside, laughing at him and enjoying each other's company.

"You feeling all right, Ron?"

Ron didn't remember sitting back on the bed, but that's where he was when Hermione entered the tent, looking concerned.

"Yeah, fine," he lied easily, but his voice sounded too cold to his ears.

"Oh, okay," Hermione came to take a seat at the end of the bed as he sat up.

They sat beside each other for a few moments, and despite what was written in the pages of Hermione's journal, Ron couldn't help but feel a bit hopeful when Hermione gingerly touched his shoulder.

Her expression turned from worry to slight fear when he turned to look at her.

"Ron…it's my turn."

Ron's heart dropped as she broke eye contact with him and retracted her hand.

"Oh, sure," Ron muttered as he took the locket off from around his neck and, after a slight hesitation, handed it to Hermione. She took it without looking at him and placed it over her head.

"Thanks," she said awkwardly.

"Are you okay?" he asked, as she still looked shaken up about something.

"It's just your…" she looked back at him, into his eyes, as if expecting something else to be there. Apparently whatever she was looking for wasn't there anymore, for she finally seemed to relax. "Never mind…it's gone."

Ron suddenly realized how close she was and stood up abruptly.

"Oh, well, all right then," he said, not trying hard to mask his discomfiture. "I better go take the next watch."

He didn't bother to turn around to gauge her reaction…she'd be happy, at any rate, to have Harry back in her company once again.

_Told you so._

Ron stopped at the entrance of the tent to look back at the locket fearfully.

_You can't get rid of me that easily._

* * *

Hugo and Rosie stared at their father in poorly disguised shock.

"I don't believe it," Hugo said breathlessly after a moment.

"Now you see the dangers of snooping?" Ron said, surprised but pleased at his son's reaction.

"What? No, I can't believe Mum _cheated_!" Hugo replied in awe.

Ron grimaced and rubbed his temple, wondering how little his son had paid attention once he had learned of that particular fact.

"Keep your eye on that," Ron said, looking his daughter straight in the eye as he tapped the cover of her journal. "And you," he said, turning his attention to Hugo, "keep your eye out of it."

Rosie smiled smugly and went upstairs back to her room as Hugo sulked after her. Ron watched them, wondering if any of his stories would ever teach his children anything.

"You read my diary?" a voice behind Ron said, and he turned around quickly to find Hermione standing by the front door. She had snuck in during Ron's story, and he had been far too engrossed with it to pay attention. Her face was unreadable.

"I thought it was a journal," he said half-heartedly.

"It is," she said, coming up to him. "You never told me you read it."

"I wasn't myself when I read it."

Hermione placed her hand in his.

"Come on, I want to show you something."

She dragged him up the stairs and into their bedroom. She let his hand go as she rummaged through her dresser.

"I'm sorry I read it," he said as he sat on the bed, knowing this apology was many years too late. "It was a complete invasion of your personal space, and I shouldn't have—"

He was interrupted as Hermione tossed a small book into his lap.

"Read the last entry," she said seriously.

Ron looked at his wife nervously before turning to the journal in his hands. It was in surprisingly good condition, given how old it was. But it was something he should have suspected, given how well Hermione took care of her things.

He flipped open to the first page, intent of flipping to the end, but was held up as he stared at the new edition to the introduction.

"End Chronicling November 1997?" he asked, unsure as to why his wife had picked that time to end her journaling.

"Read the last entry," she repeated in response.

He returned his attention to the notebook and flipped through it. The word 'cheat' passed by and he couldn't help but stop at the page that had haunted him.

"Friend?" he asked, pointing to the word on the page. He didn't look up as Hermione responded.

"If you had just read another page or two you would have known that I alternated between calling you 'my friend', 'my Ron', and 'my pain in the arse'. I couldn't decide between the three which was most appropriate."

This realization hit him like a ton of bricks and he immediately complied with her earlier wish for him to turn to the last page. Nothing was written on it, so he turned back and tried to find the page last written on.

He found the page, realizing that the last quarter of the book hadn't been written in at all.

"Why didn't you finish it?" he asked Hermione, but her look clearly said that he was to do nothing but read the last entry.

The date was written in the corner, followed by one short sentence. He stared at the page, noticing that, even by Hermione standards, the script was pristine. Tear drops were the only blemish at the bottom of the page, but still unable to smudge the writing located near the top.

"I've lost…" he tried to read it but his throat constricted around the last words. He only wished his past self had been able to read this page instead.

"November 1997," Hermione said, coming over to sit beside him on the bed. "I've lost my Ron."

Hot tears had snuck into his eyes on hearing her broken voice, and he hugged her fiercely.

"I didn't know the date…" Hermione said, sniffling.

Ron hugged his wife tighter as he cast his gaze to the doorway, only now remembering that he had not shut it on his way into the bedroom. But the door was shut now, and knowing that his daughter was writing in the confines of her room, that left only his son responsible.

He smiled as he kept his wife held taut to his body. Maybe there was hope for his stories after all.

* * *

**A/n: **Well guys, there ends another chapter. I sincerely hoped you enjoyed it just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Next update might be slightly delayed, since I'm leaving tomorrow to spend a week in Boston. I'll try writing when I have time, but I'm not sure how much time I'll have.

Thanks to all of my reviewers; I wouldn't be here without you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Please take the time to review; it's really the best motivation for a writer when they know their work is appreciated. ;)

-dieselwriter

**Edit**: Yeah...Thanksgiving is not a British holiday...D'oh! XP It bugged me so I fixed it.


	8. Fights

**A/n**: Sorry it's been a while since my last update. If it makes you feel any better, this is my longest chapter to date. I figured I needed a bit of a lighthearted chapter after the seriousness of last chapter's flashback. And what did I decide to do about that? VIOLENCE! VIOLENCE! XD

Please enjoy.

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 8: The Tale of Fights**

Ron frowned as the doorbell sounded throughout the house. It was a surprisingly cool late summer day, and the clouds were plenty but not threatening of a thunderstorm. As such, Rosie, Hugo, and some of the neighborhood kids took full advantage of the weather by playing football in the meadow behind their house. Living in a mostly Muggle neighborhood, Quidditch was out of the question.

He was therefore surprised to hear the doorbell ring; the kids in the neighborhood might enjoy their company, but their adult Muggle neighbors tended to ignore them, thinking them 'rather odd', as some of the politer rumors said. As for their few magical neighbors, well, they tended to use the Floo.

Upon opening the door, however, his curiosity was replaced with anger.

Mrs. Puckle was fuming in the doorway, each of her wizened old hands pinching an ear of both his children. They were wincing painfully, although Hugo's discomfort could've been a result of the bloody nose he was sporting.

"What happened?" he asked in his no nonsense tone.

Mrs. Puckle must have pinched harder, for both of his children flinched.

"I caught these two brawling with Bobby Benson and his little group," she said in a stony tone, one she had to use often when babysitting them. "I was walking with Rhonda Caldwell on the walking trail and ran into their tussle. I sent Bobby and his friends with Rhonda, and I ended up—"

"With mine," Ron said, and his children looked fearfully at each other at hearing the edge in his voice. "I'm sorry they caused you trouble, Mrs. Puckle."

"It was on my way home," she replied with a small smile as she released the children to their father. "No trouble at all, Mr. Weasley."

"Just Ron, Mrs. Puckle," Ron said kindly, but the vice-like grip he placed on his children's shoulders told them he was only putting up a polite exterior for their neighbor's sake; he was still quite angry with them.

"After you call me Agatha, Mr. Weasley," the old witch smiled; they had reached their old stalemate once again.

"Well, say goodbye to my children, Mrs. Puckle," he said as he steered his kids inside the house. "You won't be seeing them outside for quite some time."

"Have a good night, then. Rose, Hugo," she called, waving sympathetically at them as Ron closed the door, allowing her a small smile in return before letting his anger rise to the surface.

The children cowered under his gaze.

"So? What happened?"

Hugo swiped at the blood that had long since dried. Rosie played with the fabric of her jersey between her fingers and looked at anything but her father.

"Come on, out with it," he stepped forward, arms crossed.

"Bobby beat me up," Hugo said, but for some reason turned angry eyes at his sister.

"I got that," Ron said. He turned to his daughter. "Rose?"

"Hugo was playing forward and Bobby was goalkeeper..." seeing her father's confused look, not knowing the positions in football, she started again. "Well, Hugo hit Bobby in the nose with the ball and he got mad and hit him back."

"And how were you involved in this?" he asked her.

"I wasn't," she said, and at that remark Hugo looked incensed.

"He started wailing on me and she watched!" he shouted furiously.

"You just sat and watched that older kid beat on your younger brother?" Ron asked, offended at the idea.

"It wasn't my fight!" she retorted, clearly insulted. "And Hugo hit him in the face on purpose."

"No I didn't!" Hugo replied hotly. "It was an accident!"

"No it wasn't! You were mad because he was blocking your shots all game! Just because you can't shoot doesn't mean you should hit Bobby—"

"I didn't hit him—"

"Excuse me!" Ron interrupted, causing both his children to cast their eyes to the floor in shame. "I don't care what happened! Hugo, you know better than to resolve your conflicts with fighting. And Rose-- I can't believe I have to say this to you-- but you're supposed to stand up for your brother!"

The silence was deafening, and Ron had a sudden flash to another place and time.

"This reminds me of a time I had a fight over your mother."

It was a sign of how remorseful his children were that they did not complain when their father started his story.

* * *

Ron grumbled as he walked down the stairs, having just left Professor McGonagall's office. Despite the O.W.L.s impending arrival, she was still forcing him to go on Prefect rounds with Hermione the following evening. It would be an entire Friday night wasted as he patrolled the corridors, and Hermione would no doubt be nagging him right by his side, asking him to quiz her or else making sure he himself had a strict enough study schedule.

It was as he neared the end of the staircase that he noticed another student ascending the stairs. Said student didn't bother moving to the side of the staircase and Ron couldn't help but bump shoulders with him.

"Watch where you're walking," the student muttered darkly as he continued on up.

"Where's the fire?" Ron returned angrily, turning to face the student.

He stopped on the staircase and turned to face Ron, and it was only then Ron was able to identify him.

"Carmichael?" Ron asked in surprise.

"What's it to you, Weasley?"

Ron stared at the sixth year Ravenclaw, not understanding how Eddie Carmichael could have had such a change in attitude since he had seen him earlier that day.

"Is there a problem?" He couldn't understand why the Ravenclaw was on his way to see the Gryffindor Head of House.

"Yeah, there's a problem," he said, barely hiding his anger. "I have a problem with the Gryffindor Prefects abusing their power."

"What, are you referring to me?"

Carmichael laughed harshly.

"No, you great prat, I'm referring to your girlfriend."

It was Ron's turn to laugh.

"Girlfriend? Listen, I think you've got the wrong Prefect—"

"That _Granger_ girl!" he shouted, spitting out her name like it was a foul word. "Do you have any idea how much that Brain Elixir would've gone for? And she flushed it down the loo!"

Ron couldn't stifle a snort.

"What's so funny?" he asked defensively. "Is my losing money funny to you, Weasley?"

"A little, actually. But what really makes me laugh is the fact that you expect to get Hermione in trouble with McGonagall."

"As far as I see it, she broke the rules. Prefects can confiscate items from students, but they aren't allowed to destroy them- they have to turn them into Filch."

Ron's insides squirmed unpleasantly at having the rules he abided by be thrown in his face.

"And it's not just me- loads of other students have been complaining too. Who gave that Mudblood the right to strut around the castle like she owns it?"

Ron, whose nerves were already quite on edge given the exams in a few weeks, dropped his smug smile at hearing the insult.

"Dumbledore gave her the power and you best remember your own place around here," he muttered, jabbing his finger at the Prefect Badge pinned to his chest.

"Like I said; the Gryffindor Prefects abuse their power," he muttered, turning back around to head up the stairs. "I'm going to make her pay for it."

"Maybe I do abuse my power," Ron shouted after him, still steaming. "But Hermione's the best Prefect at this school, and McGonagall'll agree."

But Ron couldn't help but feel slight doubt when the Ravenclaw turned to glare at him. It was a look he had seen on many students that Hermione dealt with, and although Hermione was in the right most of the time, he still felt nervous in this case. She _wasn't_ allowed to destroy another student's property, and he can't believe she'd forgotten.

"Unless I get reimbursed for my destroyed property, I'm going to McGonagall to take her and you down. I don't give a damn if she's the best."

Ron was no stranger to blackmail and neither, apparently, was Eddie. It was a moral dilemma, and Hermione would have been appalled as Ron decided that, for this one time, he'd have to choose the easy way to shut him up.

"Fine, all right, how much was the bottle?" he asked as a smug grin spread across Eddie's face.

"Fifteen Galleons."

"Fifteen? I thought it was—"

"Twelve? That was the asking price before you became desperate. You can pay me tomorrow," he said as he strode back down the stairs.

Ron did not look forward to the inevitable conversation he'd have to have with his twin brothers, but there was no other way he'd be able to come up with the money tomorrow, and with any luck Fred and George would understand.

"I'd better not catch you pulling something like this again," Ron muttered darkly as Carmichael walked past him and down the hallway.

"Keep your bitch on a tighter leash, then."

Ron snapped; he couldn't see anything but red as he charged forward. He was quite sure Eddie had meant the comment to be said under his breath, but he had heard every word and he was going to make sure he regretted each of them.

"What the—" Eddie didn't get the chance to finish as Ron punched him straight in the jaw.

Ron was satisfied when his hand came back bloodied. He wasn't smiling for long though as the Ravenclaw's fist came out of nowhere to land at his stomach.

Ron doubled over, all the air leaving his lungs. He gasped for a breath as the fist returned, but this time it connected soundly with his nose.

"What the hell is your problem?" Eddie shouted, but he didn't seem to wait for an answer as he rushed forward for a new attack.

The only benefit to the pain now radiating from Ron's nose was that it took away the pain from the first blow. He dodged Eddie's incoming fist and ran forward, rugby tackling him to the ground.

Ron could hear alarmed shouting from the staircase behind him, but ignored it completely. He instead grinned evilly as he slammed the boy to the ground, taking solace when he heard Eddie's head smack on the ground.

Ron aimed another solid punch at his head before Carmichael's palm flew up to slam into his nose once again. Ron felt it break this time and the renewed pain blinded him enough that, when Carmichael's other hand balled into a fist, he couldn't move in time to dodge as he was hit in the side of the face.

He fell off the Ravenclaw and to the right, but caught himself with his arm and as his assailant tried a new attack, Ron kicked out and earned a solid kick to the face. He grimaced as he heard the boy's jawbone break.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Before Ron could continue with a new assault he felt an odd sensation at his wand hand. Finding nothing wrong with it, however, he jumped up and drew back his hand, ready to put the Ravenclaw in his place.

"_Protego_!"

Ron was forced backward as an invisible shield rose between him and Carmichael.

"Mr. Weasley!" Professor McGonagall ran up beside him, looking down as he did at the prone figure of Eddie Carmichael. "What in Merlin's name is going on here?"

"He—he—" Ron couldn't get the words out for the foul thing Carmichael had done. It wasn't easy to speak anyway, given that his nose was still spouting blood.

"He attacked you?" McGonagall guessed, her eyes wide and fearful.

"No!" Eddie shouted furiously from the floor. He seemed to be in a partial daze from his broken jaw, but not so much that he couldn't defend himself. "He came after me! For no reason!"

"Bullshit!" Ron found his own voice now, causing McGonagall to frown reproachfully. "He was insulting the honor of a Gryffindor Prefect, and he was attempting to blackmail me."

"Language, Weasley," she barked, but it only seemed half-hearted as she absorbed his words. "And as noble as your intentions undoubtedly were, Mr. Weasley, I'm afraid I cannot tolerate such violent behavior. Both of you will be receiving a week's worth of detention and fifty points each from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw."

"What?" Carmichael roared in indignation, finding the strength to finally rise to his feet. "HE attacked ME! Why am I being punished?"

"Violence is not tolerated at Hogwarts, Mr. Carmichael," she said in a voice so cold Ron was sure the temperature in the hallway had decreased. "And I believe our other fifth year Gryffindor Prefect mentioned something about confiscating illegal goods from you earlier today?"

The Ravenclaw's face turned bright red.

"Illegal?"

"Baruffio's Brain Elixir has been outlawed from the country for 20 years, since it was discovered to have hallucinogenic properties. It's a shame the contraband escaped Miss Granger's grasp; any student found in possession of it would have been expelled immediately."

Ron couldn't contain his smile as Eddie Carmichael floundered for words.

"I would not be smiling for long, Mr. Weasley; I might have to take away your badge for this."

Ron's smile vanished in an instance, but knew that when it came down to it he would do it all over again.

* * *

"You attacked another student?" Rosie asked incredulously.

"You broke the guy's jaw?" Hugo wondered in awe.

Their father's stern gaze silenced them immediately.

"Hugo, you need to learn how to pick your fights. Bobby Benson's nearly twice your size," Ron said, and his son nodded in understanding. "Rose, your brother's probably going to get into a lot of dumb fights in his life," Hugo looked exceedingly annoyed by this comment but didn't say anything. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't support him."

"Sorry, Dad," they said together, habitually.

"Now go up to your rooms; I'll dole out punishment after your mother gets home."

Both of his children slumped up the stairs.

"This is all your fault," he heard Hugo mutter under his breath.

"You're just mad 'cause Bobby beat you up," Rosie whispered angrily.

"And you're just mad 'cause you like Bobby and he hates you."

"UP!" Ron barked, and his children scrambled up the rest of the stairs silently.

The doorbell rang again. If one ring was uncommon in the house, two in one day was quite a rarity. His children remained on the landing, intrigued, but Ron said nothing to them as he opened the door.

A tall, tanned boy with shaggy dark brown hair and hazel eyes was standing in the doorway, sporting a swollen lip and a football in his hands.

"Mr. Weasley—" he started, and Ron knew immediately who the boy was.

"_Auror_ Weasley," Ron corrected. The boy's father worked in his department at the Ministry.

"Er—" the boy hesitated. He couldn't have been older than 10. "Right, sir; sorry. I just…wanted to apologize, sir."

"Hugo!" Ron shouted, making the boy on the doorstep jump about a foot in the air.

"Yes, Dad?" Hugo replied from the top of the staircase meekly.

"Come down here."

Hugo must have learned to Apparate, for he seemed to have appeared at his side instantly. Both boys averted their eyes from one another.

"Don't you have something to say to Bobby, Hugo?"

Hugo looked up fearfully at his father before glancing at Bobby timidly.

"Sorry, Hugo," Bobby spoke first, despite Ron's prompt to his son.

"Me too," Hugo replied uncomfortably.

"Can I talk to Rosie?" Bobby's question must have been an embarrassing one for him, for he blushed and stared at the ground again.

Ron's brow furrowed suspiciously, but before he could reply, Rosie had joined him at his other side in the doorway.

"Yes?" she asked, and Ron did not like the hope she held in her eyes at all.

"Umm…" Bobby seemed flabbergasted now, staring nervously between daughter and father. "You left this…at the field," he said as he handed over the football.

"Oh…thanks."

The three children stood around, seemingly unsure of what to say. After that last exchange between the boy and his daughter, though, Ron knew exactly what he wanted to say.

"Thanks for stopping by, then, Bobby," Ron said as he ushered his children away from the doorway. "Send your father my regards, please."

Bobby didn't get a chance to respond as the door closed on him.

"_Dad_," Rosie whined, holding the ball tightly in her hands. "You just slammed the door on his face!"

"He needs a haircut," he replied, as if that was a proper excuse for his rude behavior.

"You're so embarrassing."

Ron sighed, wondering how on earth the child that had mocked her for her hair only a few weeks ago had suddenly become her current flame.

"Up to your rooms, then," he said, the conviction in his voice lost.

But his children didn't seem to notice as they trudged back up the stairs and into their bedrooms.

It was with a blind horror that Ron suddenly remembered how he had initially treated Hermione, how he had mocked her affinity to know all the answers and her inability to make friends.

It was official, then: Rosie was never allowed to be near that Bobby Benson ever again.

* * *

**A/n**: Sorry, this chapter's looooooooooooong. Couldn't be helped; intro of a new character and all that.

Things I want to bitch about but won't go into detail for space constraint:

1. HBP movie release delayed for money. MONEY! WHAT THE-  
2. School starts a week from Tuesday. Boo.  
3. The commercial I'm watching right now. Yawn.

Things I am happy about with my life, but won't go into detail for space constraint:

1. Boston was effing sweet.  
2. I gotsa haircut. Yay!  
3. Release of screencap of Ron and Lavender in HBP. HELL YAY!

Wanna add to the second list? Review please!

Loves to all my reviewers!

-dieselwriter


	9. Women

**A/n**: I can't believe it, but there is something actually more time consuming in my life than Harry Potter right now, and that is the hell-tastic voyage that is SENIOR YEAR IN COLLEGE! AAH!

Guh, who knew finding a future would be this difficult?! Why can't nerds like me get paid to write fanfiction?! That's what Steven Kloves does to the HP script!

Bah, enough of that. Less of the personal life, more of the fic!

**Warning**: I'm getting to a point where it's vital to read the last chapter before the latest. What does that mean? Read the rest of the chapters before reading this one, lazies! And definitely make sure you read this chapter before the next update. More's in the final a/n, if you want a fuller explanation.

Oh, and this chapter's a bit long and heavy. Make yourself nice and comfortable before reading. :D

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 9: The Tale of Women**

Hermione stared at the curious sight in front of her, suspicious but intrigued.

"Move _over_, Hugo!"

"Dad, your squishing me! I can't breathe!"

"Well I can't see through the door! Scoot!"

"You're suffocating me! And now _I _can't see!"

"Here…come here—"

"Dad! That tickles!"

Hermione stepped further into the living room, trying to decide why her husband and son were sitting on the ground and staring out of the large window into the back yard. All the while she tried not to laugh as they entered an impromptu tickle fight on the floor.

"Well…does _this_ tickle any less?" Ron smiled evilly as he dug his fingers into Hugo's sides, tickling him purposefully.

"DAD!" Hugo choked out amidst his giggles. "Dad, STOP!"

But Ron ignored him, laughing as his son flopped on his side, futilely trying to escape his father's clutches.

"DAD," the boy searched the room, trying to think of a way out of his situation. "THEY'RE KISSING!"

Ron stopped his tickling abruptly as his eyes opened wide, fearful.

"No they're not!"

He snatched the Omnioculars hanging around his son's neck and peered back out the window into the backyard. Hugo jolted forward as his father used the magical device still hanging from his neck.

"Dad, I can't breathe…AGAIN!"

"They're not kissing," Ron said obliviously, taking his eyes off the backyard to glare at his struggling son. "After _he_ goes home, you get double the tickling."

"After who goes home?"

Husband and son gave a start before staring guiltily up at Hermione.

"Welcome home darling!" Ron said through a broad grin, acting as though he hadn't heard his wife's question.

"How was work, Mommy?" Hugo asked endearingly, joining his father's act.

"What are you two doing?"

They shared a panicked look between each other before turning back to her, identical polite but confused smiles on their freckled faces.

"I don't know what you're talking about," they said at the same time, as if they had rehearsed it far in advance.

"Then what are those for?" Hermione asked, pointing to the Omnioculars in Ron's hand that were still attached around Hugo's neck.

"We were…" Ron hesitated, looking to his son for support.

"Playing a game!" Hugo replied with a wide smile, as he finally succeeding in taking the Omnioculars from his father's grasp.

"What kind?"

To that, Ron stole the Omnioculars back and glared through them back out of the window, forcing Hugo into his side again.

"Spy."

Hermione leaned over her husband and grabbed the Omnioculars out of his hands. Hugo was forced to stand by her side or face strangulation.

"Who are you spying on?" she asked, looking down on Ron and then Hugo coldly.

Neither answered, so she looked out the back window herself.

"You're spying on _Rosie_?"

"No!" Ron and Hugo replied indignantly as they stared furtively at Rosie.

Rosie's full attention was captivated by the youth practicing Quidditch with her. He was laughing about something as he pitched a practice Bludger at her, and she retaliated with a swing of her Beater's bat. The Bludger flew far over Bobby's head and Rosie stuck her tongue out at him playfully.

It was lucky for everyone involved that neither she nor the boy noticed her entire family staring at them through the window.

"You're spying on Bobby!" Hermione shrieked, cuffing her husband on the head with the Omnioculars.

"Ouch! Hermione! That hurt!" Ron muttered indignantly, rubbing his head.

"What happened about all that talk on privacy?" Hermione continued her tirade.

"This is different," Ron mumbled, still rubbing his head.

She rounded on her son, and he cowered under her furious gaze.

"And I thought your father already talked to you about invading your sister's privacy?"

"But this _is_ different!" Hugo pleaded. "She's just in the backyard! If she wanted a private moment, she should've gone up to her room! Anyone can spy on her if she's outside, even Mrs. Puckle if she wanted…."

But he cowed again as his mother's eyes narrowed angrily.

"I can't believe you two! Both of you to your rooms, now!"

"You can't punish me—" Ron started huffily, but hesitated as her attention was drawn solely on him.

"Oh, can't I?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.

Ron was about to open his mouth in retaliation, but closed it again, thinking better of it.

"Right; come on, Hugo," Ron muttered, defeated, as he stepped forward to usher his son out of the room.

Hugo, who had almost freed himself of the Omnioculars strap around his neck, was foiled as his father tried to steer him away from his mother, who still held tightly to the magical binoculars.

"Oh, sorry Hugo, dear," Hermione said, relinquishing possession of the Omnioculars to him.

Hugo followed his father out of the room after casting his mother a cautious look.

"Dad," he whined as soon as he and Ron were out of earshot. "She can't _really_ punish you."

But as Ron continued up the stairs without answer, Hugo continued uncertainly.

"_Can_ she?"

Ron gave a massive sigh.

"Hugo, I'll let you know now, women know everything. Not just your mother… not just your aunts and grandmums…_all _of them. Even your sister probably knew we were watching her. Lucky Bobby's not as observant."

Hugo looked horrified at his father as they entered his bedroom and he sat down on his bed.

"But…but that can't be true!"

Ron nodded his head glumly as he joined his son on the small bed.

"If you learn just one thing from all my stories, Hugo, I pray it's that women know everything. It's best if you just do what they say sometimes."

"I don't remember that sto—" Hugo started, but clamped a hand over his mouth, realizing what he had walked into.

"I haven't? Well then, let me tell it to you…."

Ron began his story with a smile on his face, for Hugo had started berating himself for his mistake by hitting himself lightly in the head with the Omnioculars still around his neck.

* * *

Ron adjusted the glasses on his face, wondering how Harry dealt with them full time. They were quite a pain now just as he was getting ready to fly; how did they handle in the air, or through a battle?

He glanced over at his best friend and couldn't fight a smirk; Harry was sitting in Hagrid's sidecar, looking much like a grumpy child sitting wedged between his belongings.

"All right then," Moody called out to the crowd of Order members and Harry impersonators. "Everyone ready, please; I want us all to leave at exactly the same time or the whole point of the diversion's lost."

Tonks mounted her broom, and Ron did so behind her with difficulty; even as Harry he was still taller than her, making it uncomfortable to get on behind her without touching her.

"Hold tight now, Ron," Tonks said, contradicting his prior thoughts.

Ron glanced uncomfortably, guilty, at his old Defense professor before holding her waist tentatively.

"Good luck, everyone," Moody shouted, his voice gravelly but authoritative all the same. "See you all in about an hour at the Burrow."

_I hope_, a small voice rang in Ron's head, making his stomach twist nervously.

"On the count of three. One…."

Ron tightened his hold a bit, fighting down the urge to be sick.

"Two…."

The glasses were sliding off the edge of his borrowed nose, but he had no time to fix it as Tonks nervously kicked off the ground, a split second before Moody finished in a loud but surprisingly calm voice.

"THREE."

Most of Ron's fears stayed behind on the ground as they soared into the sky. This was something he was familiar with; the rush of wind on his face, the whistling in his ears….

Well, the hooded figures were a new touch.

Tonks yelled something as they made an abrupt turn so as to avoid collision with one of the Death Eaters, and a green light flashed momentarily near him, but he had no time to think on it as they raced off into the night.

"Left!" Tonks shouted as she veered to the right, exposing a Death Eater flying at their left.

Ron took as careful aim as he could while clenching tightly to the Metamorphmagus.

"_Stupefy_!"

The spell did not hit the target, but caused enough of a delay that they were now out of range of his spells.

"_Bombarda_!"

Tonks cried triumphantly as her spell hit an incoming Rodolphus Lestrange's arm, causing it to break and him to roar in pain.

"_Impedimenta_! _Stupefy_!"

Both of Ron's spells shot forward and headed to the two Death Eaters that had appeared in front of them.

As both spells missed their targets, his hands quickly returned to grasp Tonks' waist, and not a moment too soon: Tonks veered up, nearly perpendicular to the ground, to avoid crashing into the two Death Eaters. Spells flew through the air beside them, but all miraculously missed as Ron clenched on with all his might, willing himself not to fall off the back.

"Stop! STOP! SHE IS MINE!"

Ron felt his blood turn cold as Tonks was finally able to straighten up so they flew parallel to the ground once again. He gazed to the left where the excited, shrieking voice had come from.

Bellatrix Lestrange, long black hair flying crazily in the wind, appeared from the darkness, her deranged smile evident even from the distance they sat at.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA_!"

"Shit!"

Tonks went into an impromptu dive, and, had not their lives been on the line, Ron would have commented on her surprisingly superb flying capabilities. He swallowed his compliment as another Death Eater flew in from the right.

"_STUPEFY_!"

It was a knee-jerk reaction, a spell he had practiced over and over again at DA meetings, and Ron could only stare in shock as the body fell unconsciously from the broom. Ron shivered, desperate but unable to take his eyes off the broom recently vacated. It was taking a much slower route to the ground than its occupant had, because of its magical properties.

"Nice one!" Tonks shouted from the front, and Ron felt even more disgusted with himself.

"_CRUCIO_!"

Ron's heart stopped; one second he was clutching onto Tonks' waist with all his might as they nosedived, and the next her hands were off the broom as she twisted and writhed under his grasp. Startled, his grip loosened, and that was all that was necessary for the broom to go completely out of control.

Tonks fell sideways off the bucking broom, and Ron could only hold onto her for a short moment before her weight and her frenzied movements caused him to lose his grip. He shouted after her even as she screamed agonizingly on her way to certain death.

Ron tried to keep both her shouts as well as the depraved laughter of Bellatrix out of his head as he tried to get the spiraling broom under his control. It jerked suddenly to the left and he slid off, making a desperate grab for the handle before he fell dizzily towards the earth right behind Tonks.

His left hand grasped the smooth wood, but he had only a moment's relief before someone cackled from behind him.

"Oh, baby Harry, did I kill your friend? I'm sorry."

His blood boiled under his skin but a chill ran down his spine a moment later as a hand fisted his hair and pulled him up by a few inches. His eyes watered as he felt a few hairs leave his scalp.

"But you're not baby Harry, are you?"

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he felt her breath on his ear, warm and putrid.

"The baby Harry _I_ know wouldn't have killed another…you're far too _murderous_ to be the Chosen One, aren't you?"

His heart must have stopped beating, but then why could he feel it turn ice cold in his chest?

"_Expelliarmus_."

The broom and his wand flew from his hand, and he gave a yelp as the only thing holding him up now was her resilient grip on his hair.

"Say hello to my niece, won't you, my little Potter imposter?"

And she let him go.

He had hardly a breath to yell with, but he did his damndest as he fell toward the ground. The wind whipped violently at him, and at some point his glasses flew off his face, leaving his vision blurred.

But truly, if this was the end anyway…he wasn't sure if he wanted to see it or not.

The cold air rushing at his side turned him numb as he tumbled down, unable to stop. At some point his shouting had ceased, but he wasn't sure if it was because he had indeed stopped or if he just couldn't hear anymore. He wondered if it would hurt…no, he probably wouldn't feel a thing, not from the height he had dropped from. He wondered if his life would flash before his eyes...it'd be nice if he could relive that kiss from Hermione in fifth year. He wondered if Tonks was dead already. Probably, he decided. Remus would be inconsolable.

He couldn't really feel the wind rushing in his ears anymore, and he wondered if he were close to the end. How crazy was Harry going to get when he found out? Would it be like when Cedric died? And what was his family going to do? The closest family member they had ever lost was Uncle Bilius….

Oh, what was _Hermione_ going to say?

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

He stopped abruptly in the air, feeling quite nauseous as his body jerked to a halt.

Without his glasses, he couldn't tell who it was flying toward him, but considering that the person had saved him from (in his somewhat biased opinion) a premature death, he was sure he'd been quite pleased to see them.

"All right there, Ron?" a breathless Tonks asked him.

He heard himself give a shaky laugh before responding.

"Yeah…you?"

The voice didn't sound like his, and he knew it was more than the reason that he was still Polyjuiced as Harry.

"Fine," she said as she grasped his shoulder in an effort to steer him on her newly acquired broom.

"How…how'd y-you…" Ron's teeth chattered, unable to get the question out for the icy numbness still taking a hold on his body.

"Still had my wand in my pants," she replied as she helped situate him behind her again. "Mad-Eye may not approve…but it certainly helps in some situations. Rather have my buttocks off than be splattered on the ground like a bug on a windshield."

Ron hadn't the foggiest idea what she was talking about, but didn't mind in the slightest as he practically hugged her waist as he sat on the broom once again.

"Summoned the broom off that Death Eater you knocked out," she continued as they sped away toward their final destination.

They had fallen a long way…so far that they could skim their feet on the tips of the trees they passed. It was obvious that Bellatrix had thought she finished the job, for no one followed and they had a rather unremarkable trip the rest of the way to Ron's Great Aunt Muriel's home.

They landed in the front garden, which looked far too perfect and maintained to be natural, much like the Dursley's they had left behind only an hour ago. Could it have only been an hour?

Tonks landed surprisingly graceful on the sidewalk, but the minute Ron had his feet on the ground he fell, still unsteady in his best friend's feet.

"You sure you're all right?" Tonks looked at him worriedly as he made no effort to get back up.

Ron's head bobbed up and down without any real conviction as he stared off unseeingly into space.

Tonks looked at him in concern as she knelt beside him.

"What's wrong, Ron? We made it…" but she left her sentence hanging as his eyes sparkled with tears.

"I…" Ron started, looking green. "I—I…and then…oh God."

He turned to his side and vomited on the pristine lawn, but it did nothing to alleviate the coldness of his heart.

Tonks did nothing more than rub his back encouragingly as he continued to try to heave up his guilt. Soon he had nothing left in his stomach, but he still dry heaved, unable to stop.

"C'mon now, Ron," Tonks whispered soothingly, wiping his sweat-sopped bangs from his forehead. "This…this is a war. It was either him or us. I didn't even see him coming. He would have killed us if you hadn't stopped him."

Ron spat on the ground and sat back, still shaking. "H-how'd you…kn-know?"

She smiled down on him kindly.

"Happened to me on my first mission. Tripped into a Death Eater and he fell off a cliff…long story. Mad-Eye helped me through it. He's been mentoring me every since."

"I didn't…it almost _was_ us…no one sh-should go like…."

_That_. The sickening freefall. He could feel the vertigo overcome him again and he leaned back over, dry heaving.

"If it makes you feel any better…you made it swift. He was unconscious- he wouldn't feel a thing!"

A bubble of laughter escaped his throat, as his nausea left again and he sat back. He was probably losing his mind.

"M-makes me feel," a coughing fit interrupted his reply, "_loads_ better!"

He wiped his sweaty brow with his hand, and it was then that he noticed it actually was _his _hand, and that he could see it quite clearly. He had changed back to himself.

"It was Dolohov."

Ron's blood felt like ice in his veins. That was the Death Eater…he had tried to kill Hermione at the Department of Mysteries battle….

His fierce anger alleviated the guilt as he stood up uncomfortably; his borrowed clothes didn't quite fit. He wasn't sure how he felt now…better, for being able to put his actions with a face…and something, he couldn't quite place…having to do with getting revenge on the man who had caused Hermione to suffer.

"I'm proud of you, Ron. You did admirably."

Tonks put a supportive hand on his shoulder, and only the heat he could feel in his body radiated off of her hand.

_Pride_. It couldn't be that…he couldn't feel _proud_ about ending another man's life…?

But she was grinning in support, and maybe that was one of the emotions he was feeling…he couldn't quite tell. He was still quite numb about the whole thing.

What he did know though was that he wanted to say a lot of things to the pink-haired Auror. Thanks, for saving him. Thanks, for helping him through this. Thanks, for making him feel…better, he guessed.

"How'd you know?" is what he ended up saying.

Tonks gave him a wry smile as she climbed the porch steps and stumbled over the welcome mat. Muriel was in the doorway, looking crossly from the pile of sick in her otherwise immaculate front yard, to her pale nephew, and then to the Auror standing beside her with a knowing smile.

"Well? Come inside…you're letting the cold air in."

Ron's jaw dropped; he had messed up her perfect yard, a feat that in the past had earned Fred and George quite a chewing out, yet here he was, being invited in to do who knows what other damage to her house.

"I'm sure the others are worried about you, you missed the Portkey," his auntie fussed as she headed inside.

Ron ambled up the stairs and stood hesitantly in the doorway, watching Muriel bustle around the small but richly decorated living room to set out tea and biscuits.

"How…why…?" Ron looked confusedly from his auntie to Tonks, who stood at his side.

"Because…we've been there. We know everything," she smiled as she walked into the room, grabbing a biscuit from the tray and plopping down on the love seat.

Ron smiled bemusedly as he entered the house and closed the front door behind him.

* * *

Hugo stared up at his father in unsuppressed shock.

"So he…he died?"

Ron shook his head glumly.

"He didn't die that night…. One of his colleagues saved him. We didn't find out about it until much later."

"Oh."

Hugo stared at the Omnioculars in his hands blankly, trying to process the information.

"So girls know everything?"

"Pretty much," Ron replied, also staring at the Omnioculars. "On the plus side, we can find out a lot about them as well, if you spend enough time with them. For instance…."

Ron froze as he heard someone in the hallway climbing up the stairs.

"For instance, your mother's about to come into this room. She's going to be upset with me for being in your room, she'll apologize for hitting me on the head, and she'll ask you if you've learned your lesson, to which you'll reply you have, that you should respect your sister's privacy and you should not listen to me."

Hugo's face split into a broad grin as Hermione stuck her head into the room.

"I thought I sent you to your room?"

Ron gave his son a knowing eye before acknowledging his wife's remark.

"Got lost," he shrugged as she entered the room.

Her anger melted as she stood next to him, raking her fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry about hitting you…your head's okay, isn't it?"

Ron closed his eyes and nodded, enjoying the feeling of her fingers massaging his scalp.

"Hugo, have you learned your lesson?"

Hugo couldn't hide his enormous smile, and it was lucky that Hermione wasn't watching him or she would have been quite suspicious at finding humor in this seemingly tedious question.

"Yes, Mum…I should respect Rosie and Bobby's privacy, and I shouldn't listen to Dad when he tries to rope me into dumb ideas."

Hermione smiled as she transferred her affections to her son.

"That's my boy," she said, giving him a loving kiss to his forehead. "You can go play now."

He giggled as he followed his mother and father to the doorway.

"Oh, and Ron?"

Ron froze as they stepped into the hallway, his hand nervously floating above the handrail.

"Yes?"

Hermione grinned smugly.

"They kissed."

"They DIDN'T?!" Ron roared as he flew down the stairs and ran through the house to get to the backdoor. "ROSIE! _NO_!"

Hugo adopted the same blank stare he did before as he glanced from the spot his father recently vacated to his mother.

"We know everything," Hermione shrugged but kept her grin on her face as she descended the stairs after her husband, leaving her son to ponder the real workings of women, compared to his father's interpretation of them.

* * *

**A/n: **Damn, this was a long one! This is like…two chapters in one! Lucky you! ;)

But anyway, this chapter marks the beginning of a bit of a 'season finale' sorta thing. I like to think that every 10 chapters I'll do something special as a celebration. The flashback in this chapter will be vital to the next two chapters I write. Let's just say you have Hermione/Ron-ness to look forward to in the next chapter's flashback. :D

After my next two updates I'm going to be taking a bit of a break (haha, like three weeks isn't enough of a break?) to finish off another doozy of a fic I'll have coming out later this year. I think you all will love it…plenty of Ron/Hermione/action/blood/angst and more!

I've probably confused everyone…bah, well expect another update in (hopefully) the not-too-distant future.

Thanks so much to all my reviewers; you are all wonderful people who deserve wonderful things for the love you share! And if you haven't taken the time to review, please do so! I'd sorely appreciate it!

-dieselwriter


	10. Guilt

**A/n**: Oh yeah…back to weekly updates. Well, for this chapter, at least. It was so much fun to write! Make sure you all have plenty of time to absorb this chapter, cause it's a doozy…major heaviness in this chapter.

**Dedication**: Dame Brittany! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I know it's tomorrow...but I couldn't help myself. I hope you love this chapter, just as much as I always love your reviews! You are AWESOME, and I wish you all the happiness in the world on your 20th birthday. AND MANY MOOOORE! And remember, stay classy. ;)

(Sorry to give you such a depressing chapter for your birthday…next update will have a happier feel to it, if it makes you feel any better.)

Oh, duh, and happy birthday to Hermione tomorrow as well! I snuck you in at the end cause you're awesome! (Yes, it's totally normal/cool to wish fictional characters happy birthday…)

**Warning**: Do NOT read this chapter unless you've read the last one. You will not understand it, seriously. The flashbacks go hand-in-hand. I wouldn't make you read anything unless it was absolutely necessary, and the last chapter's flashback _is_ absolutely necessary to understand this chapter.

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 10: The (Untold) Tale of Guilt**

Ron sat at his desk at the Auror office, contemplating. He scratched his chin with the quill that was currently not writing the report it was supposed to.

"Hey Ron, you busy?"

Ron sat back in his chair and looked over his shoulder to see Harry standing in the doorway.

"Not for you, mate. What's up?"

Harry shrugged, stepping into the office.

"Not much…Hogwarts sent me another owl about James."

"Ha, he causing trouble again?" Ron asked with a laugh, always entertained at his nephew's antics. "What'd he do this time?"

"Something about a toilet…his Uncle George apparently gave him the idea," Harry couldn't hide the amusement he found in this either as he smiled. "Ginny said she'd handle it."

"Sounds like you're off the hook then. Wanna celebrate with a tea break?"

"Don't you have a report to write?" Harry asked, glancing over the work on his friend's desk.

"Yeah," Ron replied, disgruntled. "So you want to go or not?"

Harry's grin broadened.

"Sure, let me get my cloak."

"Yeah, let's…aww…" Ron moaned as a purple Interdepartmental Memo flew into the room and landed on his already overcrowded desk. "Damn."

"Well, what's it say?" Harry asked, disappointment drowning out his curiosity.

Ron read through the memo, his face changing from annoyance to confusion as he finished.

"I borrowed a book from Senior Auror Williams?" Ron asked, putting the note down on his desk and staring at Harry, puzzled.

"Probably, if he's sent you a memo for it," Harry shrugged.

"Shit…" Ron muttered as he picked up his wand. "_Accio Williams' book_!"

A large manual flew from the top of the filing cabinet and Ron ducked before the massive book could hit him square in the face. It instead hit the wall behind him and fell to the ground with a loud thump.

Harry laughed as he leaned over to pick up the heavy book with both hands. "_The Big Book of Boys_?" he read off the cover, and a mischievous grin flitted across his face.

"It's a book I got for Rosie, ya git," Ron muttered as his ears turned red. "This Bobby thing has gotten completely out of hand. I wanted to give her some tips."

"Ha, wow, how did that go?"

"Poorly."

Harry could only laugh as Ron checked under the pieces of parchment on his desk, obviously ignoring an awkward memory.

"So this is the book Senior Auror Williams lent you?" Harry asked bemusedly.

"Check the author, genius," Ron replied, shuffling the papers on his desk around in search for something.

"Lauren…Williams," Harry muttered, putting the very large book back on the filing cabinet. "What on Earth did she fill the pages with?"

"Hell if I know."

"Well you read the thing…didn't you?"

Ron gave him a slight smile as he sat back on the chair in defeat.

"I skimmed the chapter on Quidditch…."

Harry shook his head as he found an unoccupied corner of the desk and sat down as well.

"Right, so no book then?"

"It's probably at home," Ron muttered, checking his watch. "I could sneak over there and grab it…wanna come over?"

"Kingsley's been all over me to finish off those Selwyn papers…but if you insisted on me coming, I suppose I could-"

He was interrupted as a particularly violent Interdepartmental Memo came through the door and smacked him on the back of the head.

"_Potter…get you arse back to your desk…_" Harry read off, his brow creasing in annoyance. "Dammit."

"Ha, sorry mate, better luck next time!" Ron laughed as he grabbed his cloak and headed out of the room. "I'll come stop by your office to bug you later, how's that?"

Harry merely grumbled his reply as Ron Apparated from the hallway and ended up at the back porch of his house. He brought out his wand to magically unlock the door but frowned as he discovered it to be unlocked already.

His fingers clasped the doorknob as he heard a voice coming from inside his house, not sounding at all like his wife or children. It was indistinguishable through the door, but it was a man's voice, sounding foreign and harsh.

Ron's heart leapt to his throat as he heard Rosie whimper and Hermione's soothing voice.

He wasn't sure what he planned on doing if there actually was some evil wizard in his house, but he didn't particularly care as he exploded through the back door, wand raised and anger pulsing in his veins.

"STAY AWAY FROM MY FAMILY, YOU FU…n…umm…."

Hermione glared up at him from her seat on the sofa, and both of his children gave him frightened looks from her side. His wife's right hand was stroking her son's cheek as he used her lap as a pillow, while her left hand was busy fingering Rosie's hair, who was burrowed into her side.

"Daddy!" Hugo cried as he scampered away from his mother's grasp and went over to hug his father fiercely.

Ron lowered his wand as he picked up his son. Hugo's arms instantly went around his father's neck as Ron carried him over to the couch. Apparently the male voice Ron had heard was coming from the telly. He was so used to having it off that it wasn't a wonder that he hadn't considered it an option.

And it wasn't the forlorn looks on his children's faces that gave away the fact that there was a problem; rather, it was the fact that the television was on in the first place.

The only times the telly went on in the Weasley household were either when it rained (but even then it was a rarity, for the children usually preferred to read or play chess, or cause trouble), or else when something bad had happened. Something bad enough that his children would want to escape in the world of television, to avoid the reality of the situation.

He sat down on the couch and continued to hold his son as he snuggled into his neck.

"What's happened?" he whispered to his wife, but it was Rosie who sniffled an answer, still from her mother's side.

"Pig…died…."

Ron felt his insides turn cold. Hugo squirmed in his arms but he was momentarily frozen, unable to comfort the small child.

"_Pig_?"

Rosie nodded before snuggling further into Hermione's side, hiding her tears.

He felt numb as Hermione's hand grabbed his own.

"He was an old bird…lived a long and very fulfilling life."

Ron nodded stupidly, realizing with an unfortunately stark clarity that this was his fault.

He had let Pig out of his cage earlier in the morning for a quick fly around the house, but he had been so busy trying to get the papers of his report together that he had left the small owl outside when he left for work.

"Shit I forgot him!"

Hermione gave him a reprimanding look, but the children didn't seem to care, apart from the fact that they tried to hug their respective parent more than their small arms could manage.

"He was old, it wasn't anyone's fault. These things happen…it was an accident."

And that simple phrase triggered the guilt. The children might have been pacified by their mother's words, but the guilt he had felt at being the cause of his old pet owl's death was intensified with another death…one that had happened long ago….

* * *

Firewhiskey did _not_ taste as well the second time around.

It had seared on the way down, and it burned even worse on the way back up as he expelled it into the toilet.

But he had vomited up anything from his stomach long before, so all he was stuck with now was dry heaving.

He panted as he tried to calm himself down enough to spit out the excess bile in his mouth and lean his head on the cool porcelain.

"Ron?"

It was a whisper that wouldn't have carried over the dinner table, but in the quiet confines of the Burrow at four in the morning it was easy to hear and identify.

"Hey, Herm—" he had another coughing fit when his scratchy voice tried to fight the burning of his throat in an unsuccessful attempt to talk. "—_ione_—"

Hermione hesitated at the door for only a second before rushing over to him and rubbing his back comfortingly.

"Ron, are you sick? What's wrong?"

He was gasping with the effort to breathe without upsetting his raw throat.

"_Nah_," he rasped. "'M all right…. 'M fine…."

She froze, her hands now just resting on his back. He couldn't see her expression but didn't particularly care as his stomach churned and he ducked his head back to the toilet.

"You lied to me…earlier…" Hermione whispered, but Ron was unable to hear it as he dry heaved.

He resurfaced a few minutes later to wipe his mouth with his sleeve shakily, and turned to look at her shocked, disbelieving face.

"What?" he asked and winced as his throat protested again.

"You lied to me!" Hermione accused in a loud voice.

He thought back to when he arrived only a few hours ago, when he had tripped dazedly to receive her in a warm embrace. Of course he hadn't been fine; he had killed someone, and his own life had nearly been taken along with Tonks'…the Portkey trip back to the Burrow had upset his stomach again and that led him to the unpleasant memory of watching Antonin Dolohov fall to his death…but Hermione was alive and hugging him…of course he'd said he was all right….

Ron averted his eyes and made a noncommittal noise in his throat that felt far more soothing than answering her with words.

Hermione grabbed his arm with both her hands, and he turned to face her once again.

"What happened?" she spoke quietly again, her eyes pleading with his.

He thought about it for a moment, to tell her about Dolohov and Bellatrix…how he felt a guilt and darkness like none other consuming him, to the point he couldn't sleep, but could only spend his time trying to dispel it through disgorgement.

And how he was scared. Oh, how he'd tried to fall asleep earlier, but he'd quickly felt Bellatrix's disgusting breath at his neck, condescending yet frightening whispers echoing in his head.

"Nothing," Ron whispered, staring deep into her brown eyes and trying not to let his fear show. "Nothing happened."

Her hands moved to the sides of his face and he tried to hold himself together, to keep his heart from bursting out of his chest and to keep his stomach contents where they belonged.

"Please, tell me what happened," her eyes were unblinking, not willing to break the connection.

He hesitated, finding it difficult to breathe, and to his utter horror he thought he felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He blamed it on the fact that he hadn't blinked in a minute as he took a deep breath and answered.

"Fell," he whispered.

Her lips twitched upward, but her eyes sparkled with tears of her own, and he knew she found no humor in the situation even if she were smiling.

"You fell?"

He nodded, but she kept her hands at the sides of his face still. Her smile disappeared as she realized what falling would actually entail.

"Off your broom…" her eyes held some of the horror he had felt and continued to feel at the thought of it.

He shrugged but found he couldn't take his eyes off hers now that she held his head so firm.

"Yeah…"

A tear fell from her eye as she removed her hands momentarily to embrace him.

"But you're all right now…you're here and you're safe and you're family is safe…we're all okay now."

He wanted to give a laugh but it came out more as a sob than anything, and he cringed at hearing it come from him while in the arms of the woman he loved.

"Something else…" he said in a voice that didn't sound like his, even with his throat hurting like it did.

She squeezed him tighter as his thoughts returned to Dolohov, to watching him fall, to doing the deed without even thinking about it.

He squirmed out of her arms and returned to the toilet, dry heaving. She was at his back in an instant and soothed him with soft reassurances of him being all right, but they seemed empty.

He was anything _but_ all right.

"I k—" more heaving, and Hermione's hands worked his back lovingly.

"You're kidding?" Hermione guessed, but her tone let him know that if that was what he had meant to say he would be in trouble.

"I k-ki—" he felt ridiculous, like a child. Truly she must have thought him to be a completely fragile idiot.

"You kissed?"

That did it; he was falling apart at the seams, going completely insane. He stopped dry heaving and instead laughed into the toilet at what Hermione had said.

"No, no, it hurts," he laughed and coughed as his throat protested the laughter bursting from deep within him. "It's not funny….I _killed_ him…."

Hermione's hands, which had been at his back, fell to her sides. He laughed insanely, feeling incredibly stupid and worthless but not being able to stop himself.

"Ron…" Hermione whispered, but he couldn't hear her through his hysterical laughter.

And just as suddenly as he had started laughing, he felt something wet on his cheek. It took him a few moments to realize he was crying.

He abruptly fell back away from the toilet, looking through his watery gaze at Hermione. His breathing was coming in hitches, as the emotion he had tried to keep hidden from her came breaking out of him like a dam.

"I d-didn't mean to…Stupefied him, and he fell…" he shook his head, trying to make her understand why one of her friends had become a killer that night.

It was hard to make out her expression as the tears continued down his cheeks. He truly felt like a child now as he thought he read sympathy in her face.

"I'm s-sorry…I n-never wanted…I didn't kn-know what I was d-doing…."

He _had_ to make her understand, even as the sobs were trying to work their way out of him. He wouldn't know what to do if she didn't believe…if she truly thought him to be a cold-blooded murderer….

It had taken a while for her to respond, from the shock of it all he'd later conclude. To his dismay her eyes had misted up as well, and just as many tears were falling from her eyes as there were from his.

"It's okay, Ron, it was an accident," she said softly, kindly, as she reached for him and hugged him once again.

It _wasn't_ an accident. He had meant to curse that Death Eater…he just hadn't expected the consequences that had come with it. And even after he had done it…after Tonks had told him _who _it was…he hadn't felt upset. He had felt glad…unknowingly getting a revenge that he had wanted a long time ago, and had almost forgotten about.

The sobs broke through and he cried into Hermione's shoulder.

He _had_ wanted revenge…but not like this.

The guilt spilled forth and was replaced with some awful form of humiliation as Hermione said nothing. She just held him and soaked his shirt with tears of her own. But where she was silent he made a production of it, shaking and nearly hyperventilating as he was able to get rid of all the emotion he had bottled up since they left to pick Harry up.

Killing Dolohov, feeling something cold drop into his heart as he watched him fall…. Having Tonks slip through his fingers, unable to catch her, thinking her dead…. Having Bellatrix strip him of his wand and broom, his only means of support, having her at his neck, letting him fall to his death….Losing Mad-Eye….And her, seeing Hermione safe and sound….

His stomach churned, but he was sick of being sick, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to heave through his sobs anyway.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said after a while. He shook his head on her shoulder but she held him tighter. "I didn't see it before…I didn't know there was a problem…I-I should've been there for you."

He wanted to laugh but he couldn't.

"It's my problem…" he said, and as he said it he felt himself calm down considerably. "Nothing you could do…."

It was a weight he was going to have to carry on his own; there was no way he'd let her take any of his problems, especially of this magnitude, with her. He would plug up the dam, and with part of his emotions out already, it would be easy to keep the rest inside.

He pulled back and gave her a half-hearted smile. She didn't seem too convinced of this sudden turnaround in behavior.

"I could've talked to you about it….Made you not feel alone."

"Well you're here now…we're talking…'m not alone."

She smiled and so did he; he refused to make her feel bad about his becoming a murderer.

But it was with a sudden jolt that he realized what implications his last few words had just had. Her face wasn't more than a foot away from his, and her hands were still around his neck. He felt his ears burn as he stood up abruptly, causing her to lose her grip on him.

She looked up at him with curious eyes, obviously not reading the same insinuations he was, or else ignoring them.

"I'm all right," he said and was pleased to hear the conviction back in his voice.

He took her hand and helped her to her feet as well.

"You're sure?" she asked, her eyes boring into his own as if trying to read his thoughts through Occlumency.

"Yeah…I just needed to…talk about it."

"O-okay," she said, and to his surprise she wrapped her hands around his waist and hugged him once again. "You scared me."

He blanched.

"I'd never seen you like that before…_please_ tell me if you feel like that again…I want to— I _need_ to be there for you."

He knew his answer. No. Never. He wouldn't do this to her again….

"Okay."

Lies. More guilt. But this was at least a healthy fib…to appease her wishes and at the same time know that she would stay happy when he kept problems like this to himself. It was the perfect solution.

She let him go after a while and smiled up at him again.

"Thanks," he said to her, at least sincere in his gratitude.

"Any time, and I mean that," she said as she lightly poked him in the chest.

He swallowed his guilt down and grinned.

* * *

"Where is he?"

It was an unpleasant question, but necessary.

"I think a cat got him, actually," Hermione replied, and her disgust was evident in her voice.

"Oh."

Well _that _was an unpleasant thought. His nearly blind owl getting snapped up by some large tabby….

"I've got to head back to the office."

Hugo tightened his grip on his neck and Hermione squeezed his hand. He had stayed for nearly an hour, but really, Senior Auror Williams was going to be pissed with him for leaving without so much as a note.

"It won't be long…I'll come back and we'll all watch a flick, how's that?"

Rosie mumbled something incomprehensible from her mother's side, and Hugo rubbed his sniveling nose all over Ron's shirt, but his hold relaxed. Ron deposited the boy on his mother's lap again and headed up the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked cautiously. She had easily adapted herself to reading his guilt expressions, and she knew the degree of guilt he currently held behind his eyes.

"I've gotta get a book…" he replied, which was the truth and Hermione only spent another moment analyzing him before nodding and giving him a soft smile.

"I love you," she said, as she squeezed her children and they took a moment from their lamentation to grumble about their mother's mushy affections.

Ron smiled at the trio as some of the guilt alleviated; he couldn't feel too awful when his kids seemed able to return back to their original sarcastic selves even when they were upset.

"I love you too," he said, and Rosie and Hugo balked further.

He chuckled as he ascended the stairs, entering his study. It took only moments to locate the book, much smaller than the other Williams' book he had nearly been clobbered with earlier.

He headed back down the stairs and passed the front door, planning to use the fireplace in the living room to Floo back to the Ministry, when something caught his eye out the front window.

He opened the door and found the ridiculously tall Bobby Benson in his front yard, trying to reach a hanging branch from a tree. In it sat a large, fat tabby with mean eyes.

"Need any help?" he asked, striding up to the boy.

Bobby retracted when he saw who had walked over to him.

"N-no, sir," he squirmed, easily remembering the last awkward conversation he had had with the Auror. "Just trying to get my cat out of your tree…I think she's stuck."

Ron could see the problem, for he wondered how the absurdly large cat had been able to climb the tree in the first place. The cat glowered at Ron as if reading his thoughts and hissed.

He reached for the cat anyway and resisted the urge to strangle the far-too-reminiscent-of-Crookshanks cat as it sunk its claws deeply into his arms.

"Here Bobby," he said, handing the cat back to the boy.

Bobby stumbled under the weight of the animal and smiled up at him.

"Th-thank you, sir," he said, then took a look at the state of his cat and spoke to it. "Oh, Daisy, have you been eating birds again? You're supposed to stay inside…Mum hates it when you go hunting…."

Ron, who had been about to turn around to head back to the house, stopped abruptly to stare back at the boy and cat. Daisy glared back at him and bared her teeth, revealing a single feather in between her pointy teeth.

It was the cold fury, an awful, despicable second of hate, that made Ron speak out.

"Bobby…"

The boy turned back around, his hazel eyes looking slightly nervous.

"Yes, Auror Weasley?"

It'd be easy this time, to blame this cat he already despised more than Hermione's old cat…to pass his guilt on this child, whom he loathed for far less sensible reasons….Be rid of his guilt and of the boy: a perfect way to kill two birds with one stone….

"You guys have scissors at your house, don't you?"

The strain in his voice was obviously ignored by a grinning Bobby.

"Yes sir? Would…would you like to borrow them?" he replied, amused but hesitant.

The kid was obviously slow on the uptake, but it made Ron smile all the same.

"No, that's okay, but thanks. Say hi to your father for me."

Ron stared after him as the boy continued back to his house, the wind causing his shaggy brown hair to blow into his face.

He smiled as he headed back to the house. The guilt almost felt good this time.

"I knew you liked him."

Ron grimaced as he found Hermione standing on the porch, smiling broadly.

"I don't _like_ him…I just didn't want him to cry about it."

"You didn't tell him the truth because you didn't want him to break up with Rosie."

Ron's grimace disappeared as his jaw dropped in alarm.

"They're not going out?!"

Hermione's playful grin let him know the truth.

"Ha, well, I knew that," he replied, his nonchalance shattered by the relief in his voice. "Despite what you might have me believe, they did _not_ kiss last weekend. And he still needs a haircut."

Hermione surprised him by coming up to hug him.

"You all right?"

He stuck his face into his hair and inhaled her scent. He was vaguely reminded of that time, a long time ago, where he could easily hide his feelings from her in a bathroom. How things had changed.

"Yeah…I will be."

And it was the truth. She hugged him tighter and they sat like that for a long while, Ron absorbing her comfort and Hermione offering it freely.

* * *

**A/n**: Oh, guys, doods, 10th chapter! This is officially the first fic I've gotten to in double digits chapter-wise! :D

If all…erm, 41 of you on my alert list for this fic leaves a review, I'd have over 100 reviews! OMG! Guys, we can so totally do this! Haha, well I'd guarantee you that if I get over 100 reviews for this, I'd update by the weekend. No doubt. And seriously… just a few words…doesn't need to be a freaking novel of a review…a few words are sufficient!

As always, thanks to all of my fantastic, loverly reviewers; I LOVE YOU ALL! Thanks for sticking with me through these first 10 chapters. I hope you all hang out for the next 10! WOOT!

-dieselwriter

:shakes head at length of chapter: You guys…I started this fic out with 5 page chapters…and now I'm up to 10 pages?! Seriously…I've gotta get it back down… :P


	11. Changes

**A/n: **I'm actually surprised no one's mentioned a certain…ah…_something_ missing regarding the last two chapters. I'm sure you'll figure it out after this chapter though. It's okay, readers…I'd never leave you with a story that didn't answer every question.

And that reminds me…whoever leaves me anon reviews about being wrong…well, reread the chapters Ron and Tonks are together in DH. I know for fact that they're on the same broom. Why else would Ron need to grab onto Tonks' waist?

**WARNING**: This chapter refers to events happening over the course of the past two chapters. Please read them before starting this one, otherwise you will be confused.

**WARNING, REVISITED**: I won't say that it's absolutely necessary, but if you haven't read my other fic _Apple Chunking_, I suggest you do so. One: it's a good fic…but given that I wrote it I suppose that's biased. Two: it will put this chapter into context. If you love me you will read it before this, even if you don't review it, but I hope you might…

And with that out of the way, on with the fic.

Adelaide, my new and lovely reviewer, the beginning's extra long to consent to your request. ;)

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 11: The Tale of Changes**

Ron rapt smartly on the door twice, looking covertly down both ends of the hall before sticking his ear to the door.

"He around?" a voice whispered from the opposite side of the door.

"No, all clear," Ron muttered.

The door cracked open, and Ron quickly slipped inside and closed the door behind him quietly.

"Let's go before he figures it out," Harry said, grabbing his cloak.

"Please…like he's not going to figure this out," Ron snorted as he went over to the fireplace in Harry's spacious office.

"Hey, I've got a full-proof plan!"

Ron did nothing but snort again as he grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the fire.

"What, come back before he finds out?"

Harry's face turned a little red and Ron smiled.

"That _is_ your plan!"

"Well, don't go broadcasting it!" Harry hissed as he cut across Ron and stepped into the grate. "Leaky Cauldron!"

Harry disappeared and Ron just grinned broadly at his friend's distress.

"Potter, you better NOT be trying to get out of editing those Selwyn papers!"

Ron jumped as the normally cool authoritative voice of Senior Auror Williams barked, aggravated, through the door. He banged on the door as he continued to try to shout it down.

"We've been working on those for over a MONTH now!"

Ron quickly grabbed another handful of Floo powder and stepped into the emerald flames.

"Leaky Cauldron," he whispered so as not to alert the Senior Auror, but the man could not be stopped as the door flew open.

"POTTER!"

But Ron was gone in a whirlwind of color, ending abruptly as he stepped out into the muggy pub. Harry was nervously fingering the fringe of his cloak.

"What took you so long? Did Kingsley find out?"

"No," Ron grumbled as he dusted himself off and ambled out of the grate. "Williams decided to stop by though."

Harry groaned as they made for the back door of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Hey guys, got time for a drink?"

Hannah Abbott smiled from behind the bar, waving at them.

"No thanks, Hannah," Harry returned with his own polite wave. "Official Ministry business to attend to."

"That's what you always say," Hannah pouted playfully. "What happened to the good old days when you two would come in and drink me out of all my Firewhiskey?"

"Wives happened," Ron said as he pointed to his wedding ring. "Surely you know about that yourself?"

Hannah rolled her eyes, but he noticed she fingered her own wedding ring lovingly.

"Well I never complain when my wife comes by."

"You know what I mean!" Ron said, flustered, as his ears turned pink.

Hannah laughed as she waved her hand like she was hurrying them along.

"Well, have fun on your 'official Ministry business.' I'll make sure the Senior Auror knows of your antics if he stops by again."

Ron and Harry glanced nervously at the fireplace before waving goodbye to Hannah and stepping out into the back alley.

"If he comes chasing us down again…" Harry said as he again checked over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed by an irate Senior Auror.

"You can blame me," Ron finished as he tapped the correct brick in the wall and the entrance to Diagon Alley formulated before their eyes. "Come on, this is important."

Both men started down the cobbled street, Harry now and then getting an eye from a passing shopper.

"Important?" Harry echoed disbelievingly.

"Well…it's important to me," Ron replied dishearteningly. "And it is Ministry business."

"I don't think getting a new owl counts as Ministry business," Harry said as they entered the Magical Menagerie.

"Sure it does…it's a work-related expense."

"Hello, sirs. May I help you?"

A short, brunette assistant smiled up at the two Aurors, and Ron returned a half-hearted grin.

"Yes, I'm here to pick up an owl?"

"Your name, sir?"

"Weasley."

The girl went to the back of the door and disappeared into the storage room. Harry turned to Ron, confusedly.

"You ordered an owl?"

"George did, actually," Ron said with a shrug. "Guess he remembered how badly I took Scabbers death back in third year…."

The assistant came back with a large cage, a small owl perched inside it.

"Here you go, sir," she said, still with that broad grin, as she handed over the cage. "Have a nice day!"

"Er," Ron, who had been reaching for his money, hesitated. "Don't I have to…?"

"It's been taken care of, sir."

Ron frowned but said nothing more as he held tightly to the cage and exited the store, Harry right behind him.

"This isn't bad, is it?" he asked when Harry had caught up. "Replacing Pig?"

"You're not _replacing_ him, Ron. You're just getting a new owl."

"Still…I don't know how the kids are going to take it," he said, glancing between the bars of the cage at the rust colored pygmy owl. "They'll think I'm just swapping out for a new pet—"

"After the war, when you helped out George at the shop…did you think you were just replacing Fred?" Harry looked sincerely at his friend as they continued down the street.

Ron's grip on the cage faltered a bit, and the owl jerked awake with an angry squawk as he picked it back up.

"No, of course not! How could you even think that—"

"I don't!" Harry replied hastily. "I'm just saying that change doesn't mean replacement…it just means change. It doesn't always have to be a bad thing."

"And when I hex your legs off for skipping out of work again, Potter," a gruff voice from behind made them both jump, "would you consider that to be a bad thing?"

Ron and Harry turned around nervously to stare at their square-jawed Senior Auror, who had a frown so familiar to Ron he wondered if the man could even smile if he wanted to.

"Senior Auror Williams!" Harry exclaimed an octave higher than normal, and Ron would have snickered if he didn't feel so nervous. "We were just on, um, Ministry business…."

"Picking up a pet is Ministry business?"

"It's for Ministry business, sir," Ron piped up. "I can't work without an operable owl."

"You seemed to be doing fine when you had that petrified owl," Williams scowled. "Now he's croaked, you decide to opt for one that actually works? Or will this one be sitting at home collecting dust as well?"

Ron winced at the lack of compassion for his old bird friend.

"No, sir, this one's strictly business."

"Next time you pick up your pets on your own time," the Senior Auror growled before turning on Harry. "And _you_—"

Harry gave a nervous grin, but the Senior Auror did not crumble.

"If I don't get those Selwyn papers completed on my desk tomorrow morning, you will regret this date with Weasley indeed."

"Yes sir," Harry replied with a blushing grimace.

Without another word, the Senior Auror walked ahead of the two and back toward the Leaky Cauldron.

"Well that was a close one," Harry said, letting out a sigh of relief. "Shit, Ron, you're going to get me fired one of these days."

"Please," Ron snorted, as they continued on in the footsteps of their boss, "the only reason he rides on you so hard is because you're next in line for his job, Senior Auror Potter."

It was Harry's turn to snort as they walked back through the gateway and into the Leaky Cauldron.

"I don't want it," Harry replied as they waved at Hannah again before stepping over to the fireplace. "Besides, Williams will never retire. Even if he was killed his ghost would take up the job."

"You'd be great for the job!" Ron roared, causing his newly acquired owl to squawk again.

"Here here!" Hannah cheered from behind the bar. "Potter for Senior Auror!"

"Snooper," Harry muttered under his breath, but a smile was fighting its way through.

"Right, well, I've got a bird to deliver," Ron said as he threw a handful of Floo powder into the flames. "Don't work too long on those Selwyn papers, mate. Ginny'll go crazy."

The smile died on Harry's face as Ron stepped into the emerald fire and called for home. The cage banged uncomfortably next to him as he disappeared and spun through the Floo network.

"You're home early," was Hermione's reply as Ron's journey ended and he entered his living room.

"I've got a present," Ron said as he held out the bird cage to find a very dizzy and very angry owl inside. "What do you think?"

"She's a beautiful owl, Ron," Hermione said, leaning over to inspect the small owl.

"He's not a she!" Ron replied indignantly.

"Not according to the way she's looking at you," Hermione smiled as the bird snapped at the bars of the cage.

The back door suddenly flew open as Rosie came bounding into the living room.

"Daddy! You're home early!"

She dashed over to give her father a hug and stare into the bars of the cage.

"Who's bird? He's cute!" she smiled as she reached out to put her finger through the bars.

"It's ours, and I wouldn't do that if I were you…he didn't like the Floo trip very much."

Rosie pulled her finger back as the owl snapped its beak at her.

"He's ours?" Rosie looked up inquiringly at her father.

"Told you it was a boy," Ron raised an eyebrow victoriously at Hermione, who merely rolled her eyes. "And that's why you're my favorite daughter," he said as he gave Rosie a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

"Eww!" but she giggled as she fought to escape her father's grasp.

"What about Pig?"

The three Weasleys turned to look at the backdoor, where the fourth Weasley was frowning. Ron placed the cage on the floor and gave a sigh.

"Come on, Rosie, grab your bat," Ron said as he walked over to his son.

"What?" Rosie and Hugo asked at the same time.

"Grab your Beater's bat, Rosie," Ron clarified as he reached the doorway and picked his son up and slung him around his waist.

"Dad! Let me down!" Hugo complained, but Ron didn't let go as he carried him one-handed down the porch stairs.

"_Accio broomsticks_!" Ron muttered, waving his wand as three broomsticks shot out of the shed in the backyard and streaked toward him. Hugo yelled but Ron caught them deftly as he continued walking.

"Dad, what are we doing?" Rosie asked as she caught up, out of breath. "Are we going flying?"

Ron smiled at the enthusiasm in Rosie's voice.

"Yep, and I'll tell you the exact same thing I told your Uncle Harry when his pet died during the war."

"Dad, Pig just died. I think we've suffered enough," Rosie groaned.

Hugo said nothing but wiggled in an attempt to escape. But Ron held him tight as they continued down the country lane to the makeshift Quidditch field.

* * *

Harry looked morosely into his bowl of porridge and stirred it around. Hermione was watching him nervously but wasn't saying anything. Ginny wasn't paying either of them much attention as she wolfed down her own breakfast.

"Hungry, Ginny?" Hermione asked as Ginny nearly swallowed her spoon on accident.

"No, but I know Mum's going to be coming for us soon enough to get wedding preparations started. The farther I am away from her, the less work for me."

"You're such a giver, Ginny," Hermione said with a small smile as Ginny finished her cereal and threw her bowl and spoon in the sink.

"Right, well, don't say I didn't warn you!" Ginny said, winking at the pair of them before leaving the kitchen.

"We've only been back a day…" Hermione muttered. "Surely Mrs. Weasley wouldn't think to put us to work so soon…."

The backdoor opened suddenly; Hermione jumped in her chair and Harry's spoon went clattering into his bowl as he jerked his head to the door.

"Hey Hermione, Harry, perfect!" Bill said as he entered, a smile throwing his scars on his face into greater relief. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Er," Hermione began, wondering how exactly Ginny knew this was coming.

"I'll do it Hermione, it's okay," Harry said, abandoning his untouched breakfast. "What do you need, Bill?"

"Just give this to Ron when he comes down, will you?" Bill said, handing Harry a wand.

"Where'd you get this?" Harry asked, examining Ron's wand. "Didn't he lose it—"

"And we found it!" Bill replied proudly. "We didn't find a trace of Mad-Eye, though."

Harry's inquisitive smile faltered.

"Oh, right."

"Who's right?"

Harry, Hermione, and Bill turned to see a worse-for-wear Ron entering the kitchen. His hair was tousled and he had dark circles under his eyes.

"You alright there, Ron?" Bill asked worriedly, but Ron waved him off dismissively.

"Long night," he said as he sat down at the table and dragged Harry's porridge over to himself to begin eating.

"I can relate," Bill said with a small smile and a shrug. "Guess what I found, Ron?"

Ron shrugged through a mouthful of porridge.

"Show him, Harry," Bill's smile widened as Harry placed Ron's wand on the table beside him.

Ron stared at it for a moment before nearly choking as he swallowed his large mouthful.

"You _found_ it?" he coughed incredulously.

"We were looking for Mad-Eye, and we just found it on the ground!"

Ron looked confusedly from the wand to his brother.

"But that doesn't make any sense…" and he knew that for a fact; Bellatrix Lestrange had taken his wand and, if she hadn't destroyed it herself, dropping it would have caused it to smash into pieces on impact.

"Well, that's what happened," Bill said as he walked the length of the kitchen in a few quick steps. "And now I've got to talk to Mum about something."

He left the kitchen, and Ron felt far less hungry than before as he stared at his wand.

"There's no way this could have happened," he muttered as he picked it up.

"Well I think this just means we need a little more hope," Hermione said as she put her hand on Ron's shoulder. "Things might just turn out for the best, even if we don't expect them to."

Harry snorted, and both Hermione and Ron looked at him in concern.

"Sorry," he said as he blushed.

But they continued to stare at him before Ron stood up and grabbed Harry by the arm, forcing him toward the backdoor.

"What're you doing?" Harry and Hermione asked in unison.

"We're going out for a bit," he replied to Hermione.

"O-okay," Hermione said doubtfully as Ron forced Harry out of the door and down onto the lawn.

"Will you quit _shoving_ me?" Harry muttered as he stepped away from Ron and turned to look at him. "What is it?"

Ron's brow furrowed but instead of answering him he pointed his wand to the broom shed. "_Accio broomsticks_!"

Two broomsticks clattered from the shed and made their way over. Ron reached out and caught one but the other slammed into his stomach.

Ron swore as he leaned over, the breath knocked out of him.

"Smooth," Harry said, leaning over to pick up the other broom. "Let's go."

Ron smiled as he stood back up and walked behind his now compliant friend.

"Hang on, Harry…_Accio bats_!"

Fred and George's Beater bats soared from the shed next, and Ron did a better job of catching them when they reached him.

"What're those for?" Harry asked, confused. He wasn't exactly adept at Beating.

"Apple chunking," Ron said as he passed Harry and continued on toward the Quidditch Pitch.

"Apple _what_?"

"Chunking," Ron answered as if it were a common thing. Seeing Harry's confused look, he just laughed and said, "You'll see."

They reached the pitch and Ron tossed Harry a bat before grabbing a few crabapples from one of the trees in the orchard.

"We're just practicing Beating with apples," Ron told Harry as he mounted his broom uncertainly. "Go on up, I'll be there in a minute."

Harry got on his broom and took a few practice laps as Ron looked at his own broom, slightly nervous.

"You okay?" Harry asked as he flew by.

"Yeah…" Ron said as his grip slipped as a result of his sweaty palms.

Harry did not look convinced as he landed nearby.

"What's wrong?"

Ron couldn't tell him…if Harry knew he was hesitant about flying since his run-in with Bellatrix Lestrange, he'd feel guilty and this plan would be all for naught.

"Nothing," Ron said as he mounted his broom and tried to keep his shaking hands under his control.

His feet wanted to remain firmly planted on the ground, but Harry was still watching him, so he unwillingly lifted his feet and took off a few feet above the earth, refusing to look back down.

"Well, you ready then?" Harry asked, not bothering to ask why Ron was only hovering and not soaring up over the trees.

Ron nodded as he held the bat and broom in his left hand and shakily pulled an apple out of his pocket with his right.

"Toss it!" Harry taunted a bit with a smile, waving his bat about.

Ron pitched it and immediately grasped the broom with both hands again, willing himself not to clench his eyes closed as Harry took a swing and brilliantly smashed the apple to pieces.

"Cool," Harry smiled as he wiped off juice from his face. "Toss me one so you can have a turn, Ron!"

Ron reached cautiously into his pocket and threw another apple at Harry.

"Well? You planning on hitting it with your head?" Harry asked as he prepared to pitch the fruit even as Ron kept both hands firmly on the broomstick.

"N-no," Ron said, hating the way his voice trembled a bit as he carefully lifted the bat in his right hand while keeping a white-knuckle grip on the broom with his left.

Harry gave Ron a sympathetic smile before descending to the ground.

"What're you doing?" Ron asked, and he rose a few more inches off the ground to try to prove to Harry that he wasn't uncomfortable with this. But as he looked down at Harry and realized how far he was from the ground his whole body tensed.

"Come on down, Ron," Harry called up. "We can throw down here…it'll be like cricket!"

"Like a bug?" Ron asked stiffly. He felt frozen up in the air.

"No," Harry said as he laughed a bit, "It's a Muggle sport."

"Like that football thing Dean keeps going on about?"

Harry just laughed some more before replying, "Just get down here!"

Ron descended and his whole body relaxed as his feet touched the ground once again.

"What happened, Ron?" Harry asked as he pitched the apple to him. Ron didn't bother swinging since his bat was still at his side so he caught it instead.

"I…" Ron hesitated, wanting to tell him something that wouldn't upset him. But Harry had always been honest with him and his problems…. "I fell."

"No you…" Harry said, confused for a moment, before realizing that Ron was not talking about the present. "You…last night?"

"I fell," Ron repeated, nervously turning the fruit in his hand.

Harry didn't say anything for a long moment, and Ron felt self-conscious as he stared at the apple in his hand instead of his gaping best friend.

"Pitch it."

"What?" Ron asked, startled.

"Pitch it!"

Ron did as requested, and Harry furiously swung and hit the apple so hard that it burst into nearly indistinguishable smithereens.

"Another," Harry said, and the tone in his voice told Ron he wasn't fooling around.

Ron threw at least a dozen apples before Harry seemed satisfied and he let out a heavy sigh.

"I miss Hedwig," Harry said through a face full of apple.

"Me too," Ron said. "Now the only one Pig has to annoy is me."

Harry gave a small smile as he wiped off some of the juice on his face.

"I just... when I was all alone at the Dursleys, she was there suffering right alongside me. Ha, I remember this one time when she brought back a rat she had caught and flew through the kitchen window to drop it on the table. Aunt Petunia had an absolute fit…."

"Yeah, last year she did something similar when she brought in that huge spider during breakfast…" Ron said with a shiver.

"She was a good owl."

"Yeah, she was," Ron said as he turned around, ready to walk back toward the house.

Harry gave an evil grin as he grabbed a large chunk of apple by him and launched it at Ron. It hit him square on the head and he turned around to glare playfully at his bespectacled friend.

"What was that for?"

Harry shrugged as he picked up another apple chunk from the ground.

"I didn't get the chance to pitch yet."

And he threw another piece of fruit at Ron, but he was ready. He ducked and grabbed a solid apple from the ground and chucked it back.

Their apple war lasted only a few minutes, ending in a stalemate as they had run out of crabapples.

"That's not the first time that's happened, you know," Ron said as he grabbed up his broom and bat, ready to head back to the house.

"You've had an apple war before?" Harry asked as he followed Ron, broom and bat in tow.

"What? No…I've been brutally assaulted while apple chunking before. George claims whacking me in the back of the head with a bat was an accident, but I have my doubts. Probably because it was broad daylight when it happened."

Harry just laughed as the two made their way back to the Burrow.

* * *

Rose and Hugo remained silent for a few moments after Ron finished his story and they reached their makeshift Quidditch field behind their house.

"What kind of moral is that supposed to teach us?" Rosie finally asked as Ron set Hugo down on the ground.

"When life gives you lemons," Ron said as he distributed the brooms out to his children, "go apple chunking."

Rosie laughed as she grabbed her broom and took off into the sky immediately. Hugo's smile was a bit more hesitant, but he too took his broom and flew off. Ron transfigured a pinecone from the ground into an apple before taking off himself.

They spent the next hour apple chunking, before they decided to start an apple war from the ground. It was therefore another hour later before they trudged up to the house, brooms and bats in tow and faces shining with apple juice.

"Hey, there are my favorite niece and nephew!"

Rosie and Hugo grinned widely as they rushed through the backdoor to find their Uncle George standing behind an amused Hermione.

"Uncle George!" the two shouted simultaneously as they battled each other for a tighter hug.

"Geez, Ronnie, what're you feeding these kids?" George asked as pretended to pry them off his waist unsuccessfully. "They get stronger and stronger every time I see them!"

Rosie and Hugo giggled as they released George so that he could look down on them with an inquisitive glance.

"Well if you've been feeding them apples, they haven't seemed to reach their target."

Rosie and Hugo grinned even more broadly as apple juice slid down their faces.

"We've been out chunking!" Ron declared as he gave his wife a kiss on the cheek.

"Eww!"

To Ron's annoyance, everyone reacted in disgust. Rosie and Hugo looked away embarrassedly as did George, and Hermione wiped off the sticky juice from her cheek with a groan.

"Fine then, I'll just hang out with the owl then," Ron muttered as he sat at the table, on which his newly acquired owl stood in its cage.

"You like?" George asked as he poked his finger into the cage. To Ron's continued annoyance, the bird only nibbled affectionately at his fingers.

"The last time I did that, he tried biting my finger off," he muttered.

"What're you on about?" George asked in confusion as he turned to Hermione.

Hermione grimaced and looked away nervously. George's eyes shone in hopeful wonder as he looked at Ron.

"You don't know?"

"Know what?" Ron asked, clearly uncertain and displeased at being left out of a conversation. His children waited for the punch-line anxiously.

"You're bird's a bird!"

Ron raised an eyebrow as Hermione blushed in embarrassment.

"Well that's good," Ron replied as he snuck his kids an amused smile. "I was wondering why he had so many feathers."

"No," George said as he started to laugh at Hermione's obvious discomfiture. "It's a _girl_!"

Ron's mouth turned into a fine line as George burst out laughing now and Hermione continued to look mortified.

"And I bet…he doesn't know what you named it?" he got out between gasps for air as Hermione, if possible, turned a darker shade of red.

"You didn't…" Ron said, his own ears beginning to turn a delicate shade of pink.

"Well, George came over to see how she was doing," Hermione cried out as George could no longer talk through his laughter. "And I said he was fine, and he said that it was a girl, and I said I knew I was right, women's intuition and all that, and was pleased to know we had another proper lady in the house, and…well…"

Hermione said all this very fast, which made Ron even more confused and George even more hysterical.

"He's a she and her name's Lady!"

Ron looked incredulously between his brother to his humiliated wife.

"You didn't!"

But Hugo joined in the laughter as well as he looked into the bars of the cage at the new pet.

"Hello Lady," Hugo said as he too put his fingers into the cage. Lady cautiously nipped at his fingers before he started giggling. "Don't! It tickles!"

George continued laughing as Hermione worried her hands with her wand, and Rosie joined her brother at peering into the cage, but Ron couldn't be mad. He walked over to Hermione and put a comforting arm around her as he watched his children.

"You're not angry, are you?" Hermione asked him as George pulled a piece of apple from Rosie's hair and offered it to Lady, getting a laugh out of Hugo.

Ron shook his head.

"I was wrong, you were right…. Some things never change."

But he smiled as he kissed her again, and this time she did not complain.

* * *

**A/n**: It took for-freaking-ever to finish this, but it's here! Finally!

NOTE: How did Bill find Ron's wand, you ask? I wanted to address it in another chapter, but for the life of me I don't think I can manage. If enough of you care to know the answer, though…I suppose I could write a new fic addressing the situation...and if no one cares I'll just let you all know what happened next chapter in an aside or something.

And of course Ron's current fear of flying will be brought up in another chapter. Patience, my fans...patience. ;)

Oh, yeah, my birthday was last Friday…I'm old and 22. But you know what the best belated present would be? A review!

Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers; as always you are the best!

-dieselwriter


	12. Tricks and Treats

**A/n: **Wow, guys, I'm sorry it's been so freaking long since I last updated! You'll be happy to know, though, that my happy Weasley family is back in full form, so please enjoy!

And a note: the flashback takes place the Halloween following the end of the Second Wizarding War. Just thought I'd mention it for your benefit.

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 12: The Tale of Tricks and Treats**

Ron scanned the newspaper without really taking in much of the words. Rosie was likewise trying to read a book, with hardly any more success than her father. Hugo was impatiently tapping his hand on the counter, a bored expression playing across his features.

"I still wish I could have gone as Voldemort," he broke the silence, gesturing to the skeleton costume he was wearing.

"No one knows who Voldemort is around here," Rosie replied, turning the page more for something to do than actually being done with the last page.

"I dunno…I think you look just like him," Ron said, his lip turning up but his eyes staying on the newsprint in front of him. "Costume or no."

"Gee, thanks dad."

"No problem, son."

"You know I get these looks from you."

Rosie stifled her laugh in her gloved hands. Hugo grinned widely as Ron rolled up the newspaper he had given up on reading. He swatted his son playfully on the top of the head with it as Rosie too gave up on her book and laughed at the pair of them.

"Rosie," Hermione entered the kitchen, laden with winter clothes and accessories, "I really think you should wear the hat I knitted for you. It's going to be cold tonight."

"_Mum_," Rosie sighed, having had this conversation at least four times already, "no one's going to be able to know what I am if your hat covers up my ears!"

Hermione glanced over her daughter's cat costume with a frown before she unburdened herself by laying out the coats, gloves, and hats on the table.

"But I don't want any of your ears to get cold," she said, holding the hat out to her daughter.

"Hermione," Ron tried to help out his daughter by plucking the hat out of his wife's hand, "if she wears this, everyone will mistake her costume for a cat with a potato stuck to its head."

Rosie and Hugo grinned but knew better than to show their mother their humor as she turned to give Ron a dangerous glare.

"My hat does _not_ look like a potato—"

"I thought it was supposed to be a wooly bladder?"

Everyone sans the angry Hermione grinned delightedly as a bemused Harry Potter stuck his head round the doorway.

"FINALLY!" Rosie and Hugo both shouted as they bolted out of the kitchen and headed straight for the living room, where they knew they would soon be joined by their Aunt Ginny and Cousins Albus and Lily.

"Took you long enough," Ron said as he walked over to his friend in order to punch him in the shoulder in greeting.

"Well Al took 10 minutes finding a bag big enough to fit all the candy he plans to collect tonight, and Lily took another 20 to find her tiara, which ended up being in Artemis' bird cage. Not sure how that happened exactly."

"Not that surprising, is it?" Ron grimaced. "That bird of yours will snatch up anything if it sits still long enough. I hope you lock your bedroom door before you go to sleep at night."

Lady hooted quietly from her cage, and Ron grinned appreciatively at his own much smarter owl.

"See? Lady's only been over to your house once, and she knows how it is."

Harry only grumbled a response, easily remembering how his owl Artemis had attempted to steal the letter Ron's new bird had delivered earlier in the week.

"It's been awhile since we've done this, hasn't it?" Hermione asked suddenly, pulling out a chair and sitting in it.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked. "We do this every year, Hermione. Take the kids round the neighborhood, then come back here to drink all the alcohol in the house while the kids eat their weight in sweets."

"I didn't mean that," Hermione said, throwing the hat she was holding at Harry. He caught it deftly with a smile. "I meant it's been a while since you guys have all been over here—"

"THEY'RE HERE!"

"Wonder why that is," Ron rolled his eyes as Rosie, Hugo, Al, and Lily stormed into the kitchen, a grinning Ginny in tow.

"Sorry we're late," she said, ruffling Al's hair to his half-hearted protestations.

"Next year I'm going as a mummy," he muttered. "_They_ don't have hair."

"But I like your werewolf costume," Ginny said, still running her hands through his hair motherly. "Very scary."

"Coming from my mum, that means a lot," he groused.

"Uncle Ron! Auntie Hermione!" Lily smiled from ear to ear as she twirled around in her sparkly costume. "Guess what I am!"

"Well you're a princess, aren't you…" Ron trailed off as she glanced at Ginny's suddenly stricken face. He looked down at his young niece to find her looking close to tears. "Er, no, I mean…"

Hermione analyzed Lily's costume and saw the plastic wings on her back, a feature Ron had accidentally overlooked. She gave an odd cough which sounded oddly like "_Fairy_!"

As his sister nodded her head frantically, he replied nervously.

"Fairy…princess…?"

To his relief Lily's frown was replaced with a bright smile as she ran over to hug him tightly round the legs. Al and Hugo both rolled their eyes at this display of overt affection, but Rosie gave a faint smile quite similar to Hermione and Ginny's. Ron could only be thankful that his own daughter had never been as girly as her cousin.

"Right, my _fairy princess_," Harry said as he picked up his daughter and threw her into the air. "Are you ready for some trick-or-treating?"

The seven year old screamed in delight as her father caught her and carefully set her on the ground. All the children in fact had wide smiles as they crowded and shoved their way through the doorway leading into the hall.

"All right, make way, I have to set out the sweets!" Ron shouted out over the children's shrieks of delight. He grabbed the bowl of Muggle sweets before opening the front door carefully, making sure to not stub any of his or his sister's children's toes. They rushed out excitedly as he finally made it out behind them, an amused Harry, Hermione, and Ginny in tow.

Ron locked the front door behind them and set the enchanted bowl of candy on the porch steps, knowing that if the candy ran out it would refill itself with the candy in a similar bowl in the kitchen. Hermione had set it up years ago, using a magic similar to the one the Hogwarts house elves used to keep refilling the food and drink offered every meal at Hogwarts, including the Halloween feast that was no doubt occupying the mind of the missing James.

"Back in my day," Ron grumbled as he caught up with the rest of his family, "we did things a little differently on Halloween."

The faces of all four children turned from eagerness to that of horrified dread.

"Dad, no!"

"Uncle Ron, c'mon, it's Halloween!"

"Like that would ever stop him from telling a story."

Ron's scowl became more pronounced as Rosie and Al laughed at Hugo's joke, and Lily laughed merely to fit in with her cousins and brother.

"Well I know that story," Harry chimed in, and his own children groaned, clearly having heard it before. "Oh, come on, guys; it's a good one!"

Both clearly thought otherwise, but distracted themselves by running up the driveway of Mrs. Puckle's house along with Rosie and Hugo.

"We'll tell it when they get back," Ron smirked, knowing full well that his children would be back and in far fouler spirits when they remembered that Mrs. Puckle only gave out sugar-free sweets on Halloween.

* * *

"What do you _mean_ you've never celebrated Halloween?!" Ron shouted in indignation, as if personally offended.

"Well, as loving and caring as the Dursleys undoubtedly were, I'd stay home with my uncle while Aunt Petunia'd take Dudley out. Dudley hated it…she wouldn't let any sweet touch his bag until she made sure it wasn't poisonous. Overall it was actually a pretty enjoyable affair, whenever I'd be able to sneak a sweet out of the treat bowl under Uncle Vernon's nose. It was kinda like a game."

Ron swapped a highly incredulous look at the ceiling, as if he expected it to give an 'I can't believe this guy either' response, before turning back to his best friend.

"That's arguably the most pathetic story I've ever heard in my life, Harry."

"Arguably?"

"Well I've heard about your love life with my sister—"

"Oh shut up."

Ron laughed as he threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and stuck his head in.

"What're you—"

Ron waved his arm in response to his incomplete question, a sign Harry took to mean he was supposed to be quiet.

"George, what're you doing tonight?"

Ron waited for a response, but obviously Harry couldn't hear it, being on the wrong side of the conversation.

"Harry's never had a Weasley Halloween before. Care to assist?"

Harry opened his mouth, trying to work out some form of retaliation for this, but couldn't really think of a response. As his friend continued his conversation with his brother, Harry couldn't help but feel a smile forming on his face at having been included in another Weasley family tradition.

"Right, okay then. See you in a few."

Ron withdrew his head from the fire, gave it a shake as he readjusted to being in the living room of the Burrow again, and stood up, grinning broadly.

"Right, that's settled; grab your cloak and wand."

"Don't I need a costume or something?" Harry asked, unsure as to what exactly he should be expecting.

But Ron merely laughed at the idea, waving his hand to sweep Harry out of the room.

"No, Harry, no."

Harry flushed a bit but said nothing more as he left the room and returned a few minutes later, cloak on and wand safely tucked away in his pocket.

"How's it going, Harry?" George asked with a bright smile, handing a large rucksack over to Ron. "Ready for a bit of Weasley Halloween fun?"

"I guess so," Harry replied, feeling unexpectedly shy.

"That's the spirit," Ron said, hauling the rucksack onto his shoulder before looping his arm around Harry's and marching him out of the room and into the hallway.

"Now Harry, there's probably a few things you should know," George said as they left the house and walked down the front yard of the Burrow, heading toward the little town quite a ways off. "First off, Mum and Dad have no idea about this, yeah? So if they ask where we've been off to, we just say we were at the shop, providing sweeties and free merchandise to the poor little children wandering up and down Diagon Alley."

Harry snorted at the idea of George dishing out treats from the front of his shop to the eager masses of children undoubtedly littering the magical street.

"Second," George continued, holding up two fingers on his hand to emphasize his point, "what we are doing is not out of some teenage act of rebellion; we vandalize because we care about the little children of Ottery St. Catchpole."

Again, Harry couldn't hold down his skepticism as he rolled his eyes at the idea of George volunteering his efforts to help out innocent Muggle children.

"_Third_," George iterated, holding up another finger, "remember to have fun. We Weasleys put the _trick_ back in _trick-or-treating_. In our modern day and age, many people seem to forget the first option, when oftentimes it is the _only _option."

Harry smiled as the two brothers led him down toward the village, full-intent on their Robin Hood-esque attitude on punishing the adults to help out the needy children.

"Now here we go," George said as he approached the first empty street in the village. "Weasleys have not been able to defend the children of Ottery St. Catchpole in years, since we've all been away at school for the past many many years. As such, it'll be a nice surprise for them all to learn that we're back. I suggest we start off with the usual. What do you think, Ron?"

"Sounds perfect," Ron said as he opened the rucksack on his back, pulling out the necessary equipment for their first trick of the night.

"Would you like to do the honors?" George asked, taking a firework from Ron's hand and passing it over to their newcomer.

"Are you sure about this?" Harry asked skeptically, even as he pulled his wand out of his pocket.

"Absolutely; this way the adults will be on their best behavior," George replied, nodding his head fervently, "knowing we're back in town."

Some odd form of teenage revelry passed through Harry as he lit the firework on fire and watched it explode into the air, in a fiery display of red and gold. Some of the children on the street next to them screamed in surprise and then delight as the glitter slowly rained down on them.

"The Red Bandits are back in town!" George said, giving Ron a high five.

"The True Defenders of Halloween!" Ron replied with a wide grin.

"The Red Bandits?" Harry asked doubtfully, with a hint of a snigger at the ridiculous name.

"The kids in the neighborhood came up with it," Ron said with a shrug. "One year there was a house only giving out raisins. Bill launched a raisin-expelling fountain on the front yard, and he was nearly caught by a rampaging neighbor. He got away, and the only thing the neighbor was able to identify was his red hair. So when the kids see one of our pranks they know it's the result of the Red Bandits."

"And you thought _my_ stories were pathetic," Harry mumbled, but George was already five steps ahead of him, heading down another desolate street.

"Hang tight, Harry," Ron said, grabbing onto his friend's shoulder as George disappeared down an alleyway. "He's going to scope out the neighborhood and let us know where to head first."

So Harry and Ron waited shiftily in the entrance to the dark alleyway, waiting for George to return. It took well over a half hour before he returned, but he had a devilish grin on his face, and it was obvious he had run into a few good houses to vandalize.

"I've found some good ones," was all George said before he turned back around, and Harry and Ron followed a few paces behind.

"The miserable git that live in this house," George said, as they approached a dilapidated house with one porch light flickering ominously, "had a bowl of about four sweets on his front porch. So he honestly thought only four children were going to go trick-or-treating. It's an outrage, really, to the poor children of this fair town."

"Agreed," Ron said, pulling off his bag full of tricks to reach in and pull out an ordinary looking chicken egg.

"Are you _sure_ you're sure about this?" Harry asked hesitantly, as Ron handed an egg over each to his brother and to his friend.

"C'mon, Harry, this prat deserves it!" George said as he unleashed his egg at the house, and Harry watched in surprise as the egg increased in size to the point it was about the size of a cantaloupe before exploding on the front door, the large yolk landing perfectly on the welcome mat as egg white smeared all over the front door.

"Nice one!" Ron shouted appreciatively before letting his own egg fly, and it likewise expanded before reaching the side of the house in a massive display of egg shell and goo.

"Your turn, Harry."

Harry looked guiltily from his egg to the house and then to the two brothers, who had their arms crossed and were looking rather dangerous.

"No pressure," Harry muttered sarcastically before winding up and pitching the egg at the house. Ron and George whooped in appreciative celebration as the egg landed nearby George's on the front door.

The next few houses passed in a similar fashion; George telling the infarction the residents of the house committed before Ron chose a suitable punishment from his rucksack. Harry's grimace became more and more pronounced as more and more houses got vandalized. But the night was winding down and they ran into less children by the time they reached a darkened street; the only light came from the street lamps and the porch light from one house with a birdbath in the front yard.

"Guys, this doesn't seem right," Harry muttered for the umpteenth time, knowing full well what was coming as George and Ron stopped at the first mailbox.

"Harry, don't be such a stick in the mud," Ron replied, again for about the twelve time that night.

"Yeah, Harry; we haven't got caught yet, have we?"

"And that surprisingly isn't as comforting as you'd imagine."

"Oh put a sock in it."

Harry crossed his arms and frowned as Ron readied the knapsack.

"Now this lovely house on the left," George flourished, pointing to the dark and seemingly desolate home on the left side of the street, "holds a couple that has kept the lights off in an attempt to stave off little children from coming forward to ring the doorbell. Despite the lights being off, though, it's obvious to see through the front window that they are currently watching the telly.

"However, according to my sources, house number two," here, George pointed to the lighted house across the street, "has been giving out pencils for treats. Now boys, I ask you; which house first? The one not bothering to make an effort, or those making such a crap effort that they might as well not try at all?"

Harry rolled his eyes as Ron rubbed his temples in an effort to look focused on a serious problem, rather than which house to vandalize first. After a moment's effort, though, it was clear Ron wasn't going to come up with a response, so he turned to look at Harry hopefully.

"Well, Harry? This is your first Weasley Halloween; you make the call."

Harry threw Ron a half-hearted glare, but seeing the eager smile on his best friend's face, he knew that this was an important tradition, one he was not willing to let end.

"No one likes a quitter," Harry finally said with a small grin, taking his own advice as he pointed to the house on the left.

"Excellent choice, my friend," George said, now sifting through the contents of his rucksack. "What do you suggest we hit them with first?"

Harry's smile widened as he made his third choice of the night, and it was a mere two minutes later that the television-watching couple were bombarded with trick-or-treaters, seeing as how their entire front porch was alight with an impossible number of friendly-looking jack-o-lanterns.

"Nice one, Harry," Ron grinned appreciatively as he turned around to face the house on the opposite side of the street. "Next!"

"I agree," George said, staying hidden in the bushes in front of the offending house as well. "Someone needs to teach this next house that writing utensils are not adequate Halloween treats."

"Can we use the dragon one?" Harry asked, rustling some leaves as he peeked over the edge of Ron's knapsack.

"Now _that's_ the spirit, Harry!" Ron said, pulling out the firework.

George did the honors this time, lighting the firework and watching it wiz about the yard, the dragon roaring with indignation on behalf of the vandalizers and the children on the opposite side of the street with rulers in their bags.

"Well next I reckon the house on the corner. They've been trying to get away with these cheap plastic spider rings, if you can imagine—"

"OI!"

All three looked up in surprise, not expecting the hulking form of the man shadowed in the doorway of the house they just unleashed with a fiery dragon. The man advanced out onto his lawn, brandishing a pencil, and looking for the culprits currently hiding in the shrubbery by his mailbox.

George and Harry both tried to stifle their roaring laughter at seeing this ridiculous weapon choice, but Ron was squinting through the leaves, trying to make out the man's face.

"Hang on," he said, as the man silhouetted in the yard by the light spilling from his open front door, "isn't that…?"

The man seemed to hear their rustling and he waved the pencil held tight in his hand, and in the next instant their feet were literally rooted in the ground as their shoes were buried in the dirt below them.

"The Fawcetts!" Ron snapped his fingers, finally able to realize why the man looked familiar. His was one of the only Wizarding families living in Ottery St. Catchpole.

"Oh shit," Harry said, looking as if he sincerely regretted his decision to join in on the fun as Fawcett stalked forward, a malicious grin on his face.

"RUN!" George shouted, as he waved his wand at their feet and they all instantly became loose and were able to free themselves.

They pushed back the bushes of their hiding spot and sprinted up the street, Fawcett in hot pursuit.

"GET BACK HERE AND GET RID OF THIS THING!" he was shouting, waving what was now obvious to be a wand rather than a pencil.

George, leading the pack, made a sharp turn on a completely deserted alleyway, and Ron and Harry followed, hoping to lose their pursuer.

"_Tarantallegra_!"

Ron gave a surprised yelp as he was hit in the back with the spell. His feet were suddenly out of his control as he tripped spectacularly, his palms scraping the cement as he landed, his legs danced wildly behind him of their own accord.

"Go on without me!" Ron shouted to the others, who had run ahead but turned around at his shout.

"Okay!" George replied before continuing off down the alleyway.

"Bastard," Ron growled as Harry doubled back, trying to reach his friend before Fawcett did.

"Don't be so melodramatic," Harry said as he approached, brandishing his own wand to lift the curse.

Ron quickly scrambled to his feet as he and Harry dashed head, and they could hear the heavy pants of Fawcett as he began to slow down behind them.

"We've got him!" Ron said as he made a right at the end of the alleyway, running only a little ways before realizing it was a dead end.

"Shit," Harry muttered, turning back around to see Fawcett's shadow rounding the corner. "What do we do?"

The old brick surrounded them from three sides, making a prison where the only way out was to get caught by the irate pencil-giver.

But Ron was already a step ahead, rummaging frantically through his knapsack as the shadow of Fawcett descended on them slowly.

"AHA!" Fawcett and Ron shouted at the same time, and as the shadowy man raised his wand in triumph, Ron threw whatever he had just found forward.

They were instantly surrounded in an absolute darkness, and Harry realized Ron must have unleashed Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. Ron grabbed Harry's arm with his left hand and kept his right hand on the right side of their former brick prison. He used his hand to guide him down the alley, hoping to sidestep the large man.

"GOTCHA!"

Harry was tugged back as Fawcett somehow latched onto Harry's other arm, but Ron was again ready.

"_Relashio_!"

Harry was freed as Fawcett was forced to relent his hold, and Ron continued dragging him along the alleyway. The powder had spread far; they scrambled down the whole street in an attempt to find light.

Nearing what they knew to be the street, they ran faster and Ron released his grip on Harry as they made it out of the alleyway.

Harry relished in the not-as-dark street, but cringed a moment later as a harsh metallic clang reached his ears.

He turned to find Ron on the ground, apparently having run headlong into the street lamp standing in front of him.

"Ouch," Harry muttered as he went forward, making sure his friend was all right. "Very nicely planned, Ron."

"I just saved you back there, Harr," Ron slurred, sitting up and grimacing as he felt a large bump begin to form on his forehead. "I don't wanna hear it."

Harry helped him to his feet, and he swayed a moment before finding his bearings.

"You okay?" Harry asked worriedly as Ron walked drunkenly down the sidewalk.

"This is nothing," Ron said as Harry caught up to him. "You should've seen the year I was eight. The guy came out just before I was about to launch an egg. He somehow caught the damn thing, and threw it right back!"

"Wouldn't it be better to have egg on your face than that giant lump?" Harry asked, glancing nervously at how large the bump had swelled in just a minute.

"Ha, good one Harr," Ron garbled, turning down another side street only to collide headlong into something else.

"Hey, watch it!" George said as he remained on his feet, while Ron fell down again.

"Sorr," Ron mumbled, trying to find his feet again.

"You all right there, Ronnie?" George asked, looking down at his youngest brother with mild concern.

"He bumped his head," Harry said, helping Ron to his feet again.

"Guess we'd better call it a night, then," George said, taking the rucksack from his brother, who did not complain at his lightened load.

They headed out of the complicated maze of side streets and alleyways, not before passing a group of giggling costumed children.

"Did you see the fireworks in front of the Fawcett's house?" one little girl squealed.

"I told you the Red Bandits were back!" a boy dressed as a pirate replied. "My big brother told me all about them. One year they apparently blew up Old Man Erwin's whole collection of garden gnomes!"

The whole collection of children giggled in appreciation, and as they left them behind Ron started to laugh as well.

"Did you have fun, then, Harr?" he asked through his laughter, and George looked at his baby brother nervously, clearly wondering how much damage his head injury had caused.

But Harry laughed a bit as well, seeing the goofy grin spread across Ron's head.

"I had an absolute blast. Thanks, Ron."

Ron's smile widened at Harry's sincere words, and they trudged up to the house, not looking forward to the reaction Mrs. Weasley was bound to have at seeing the large bump covering half of her son's forehead.

* * *

"And that," Ron said as Harry chuckled at his side, "should be the true meaning of Halloween."

"How does vandalizing people's property constitute a meaning?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"Well, people need to be more relaxed about this holiday," Ron said, watching his children and nephew and niece skip up happily to the next house. "So much stress over giving out a few treats…."

"I can't believe you hit up the Fawcett's," Ginny said in surprise. "Where was I during this catastrophe?"

"Hogwarts," Harry said. "And he deserved it…what kind of person gives out _pencils_ for Halloween?!"

"Terribly cruel people, that's who," Ron said with an understanding nod. "This holiday's for the kids; I don't see why some people go through such effort to try to muck it up. How hard is it to answer the door and give out something full of sugar?"

Ginny and Hermione laughed at his sudden seriousness on such a flippant topic, and Harry shook his head wearily.

"I don't think he ever got over that bump to the head," he said, and Ron shoved him while Ginny and Hermione laughed even harder.

* * *

**A/n**: Only Ron would take a holiday about candy so seriously.

Sorry the ending's so short, but the flashback is nice and long to make up for it.

Thanks to all my lovely and super-duper-riffic reviewers! I see much candy and love in your future! Also, please take the time to give me a treat for this magical holiday (eww…I did not just say that….). REVIEW!

-dieselwriter

P.S.: Hey guys, I realize it's Friday and a holiday and all, but please try to stay safe this Halloween. I love you all, and would hate it something bad happened. Make smart decisions, and eat lots of candy (okay, maybe that's not the _smartest_ decision...but it sure is tasty!).

P.P.S.: I do not condemn nor condone acts of vandalism. When you have that toilet paper in your hand, ask yourself...what would the Red Bandits say?

P.P.P.S.: Happy Halloween!

P.P.P.P.S.: Alright, if you _must _know...I'm going as a pimp for Halloween, and my two guy friends are going as my...girls. Should be...interesting....


	13. Gratitude

**A/n: **Hey guys, how's it going…? Please don't hurt me; I'm sorry for being late. The economy's been sucking though and I've been trying to find something to make me money after I graduate come May. Not only that, but I've been stuck on another two chapters and I can't seem to work around them. But that's all boring; here's the next chapter, and I hope you enjoy it.

**Note**: This chapter coincides with Chapters 9-11, specifically 11. I suggest reading that chapter first (or looking it back over again, if you've forgotten about it).

Dedicated to the lovely NellieNotMolly, for actually giving a crap about what happened to Ron's wand. Here's your answer!

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 13: The Tale of Gratitude**

"I called _dibs_, Rosie!"

"Yeah, after I already had it! It doesn't count!"

"Yeah it does!"

"No it doesn't!"

"Yes it does!"

"No it- HEY! Give it back!"

"NO!"

"DAAAAAAAD!"

It was moments like this that Ron knew, despite the fact that he was working at home the next two days to watch the kids while Hermione went to some symposium in Wales, there wouldn't be much of a vacation in store for him.

But that didn't mean he wouldn't hope against hope that his children would resolve their own issues.

"Oh, come on Rosie, I was just kidding!"

"Then give it back!"

"Fine. Here."

"HUGO!"

Ron dropped the paper he'd have to try to read again later as he rolled off the couch and entered the kitchen, where he found an enraged Rosie, a devilishly smiling Hugo, and a sandwich on the counter.

"What's all this about? I thought I told you guys that I had to concentrate on this paper I was reading."

Hugo and Rosie hid their sneer and bared teeth, respectively, to glance up with nervous, hardly innocent grins on their faces.

"Sorry Daddy," Hugo said as he shuffled to the right a bit, no doubt trying to cover up something behind him.

"We didn't mean to interrupt your studying, Dad," Rosie said, dropping her innocent smile to be replaced with a frown. "But Hugo stole the last slice of cheese."

Rosie grabbed her brother and pulled him all the way to the right, exposing said dairy product lying on the ground.

Ron had a hard time hiding his amused grin as Hugo swatted his sister's arm away and looked up at her mutinously.

"Well, it's still good," Ron said, picking it up and splitting it down the middle before handing a half to each child.

"Eww, Dad, that's gross!" Rosie's scowl was replaced by a disgusted look as she stepped away from the cheese. "I don't want it _now_!"

"What? Five second rule," Hugo said before he grabbed his half and placed it in his sandwich and took a bite out of it.

"Suit yourself," Ron said, following his son's example and eating his daughter's portion.

Rosie had a look similar to his mother's whenever Ron would stuff fried eggs whole into his mouth.

"That is _disgusting_!" she reiterated, and blanched as Ron pulled a long, curly hair from his mouth that had undoubtedly been from the floor.

"Might be yours," Ron said, dropping the hair on his daughter's head, causing her to shriek and retreat, combing her finger through her unruly locks to get rid of any saliva-covered hairs that might lurk.

"You know, Rosie," Ron said, as Hugo ate his sandwich without remorse, "you should be more thankful about what you're given."

"Oh Merlin," Rosie dramatized, putting her head in her hands. "You are NOT about to tell a story about being thankful for cheese that fell on the floor."

"No, I was gonna just tell you a story about being thankful."

Hugo carefully tried to sidle out of the room, but had about as much success as he had in hiding the cheese on the floor earlier.

"Oh no you don't," Ron said, throwing an arm around his shoulders to prevent him from moving. "You can stay too."

"But Dad, I _am_ thankful for my dirt-covered cheese!" Hugo tried to protest, but to no avail.

"You'll probably need to hear this story too, though, and you might as well hear it sooner rather than later."

And as Rosie and Hugo pondered their abysmal luck, Ron began his tale.

* * *

"Auror Weasley, there's someone here to see you."

"Unless it's the Minister again, I don't want any visitors."

"Well that's just too bad," a surprising voice snarled, and Ron glanced from his desk to the door to find his wife trying to squeeze past the dainty secretary in the doorway.

"Sir?" the secretary glanced desperately at him, as she dug her fingernails further in the door frame to keep Hermione at bay.

"It's fine, thanks Denise," Ron said, nodding to the dainty secretary, who sighed with relief before moving aside.

Hermione cast Denise a fierce glare before stomping over to Ron's desk.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she spat venomously.

Ron finished signing his name on a document and putting it in the outbox before looking up at his obviously irate wife.

"Kingsley's been going haggard over trying to find a replacement for the Hogwarts position, and I can't leave until I've sent out secondaries to those inquiring for the job."

"Your sister just had a child and you're in here filling out _paperwork_?"

Ron took a deep breath before staring at his wife, quite surprised that his face hadn't melted off with the intensity she was glaring at him.

"I already told Harry, and he understands, Hermione," he tried to reply calmly, but he was interrupted.

"Oh, sure, if it's for the dear Minister, drop everything important in your life to do his bidding—"

"Hermione, it's my job!" Ron replied heatedly, and here he stood up, his ears turning a dangerous shade of red. "Don't make me out to be the bad guy! How am I supposed to pay for that lovely new bassinet for _her_," here, Ron pointed at his wife's quite pregnant belly, "if I don't have a job?"

"Fine, that's fine," Hermione threw her hands in the air before turning on her heel. "Stay. Do whatever you want. I'll be over with Ginny if you decide to come to your senses."

Ron deflated as Hermione stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her. He sunk back in his chair, quite used to his wife's violent mood these days.

It didn't help that he'd been working on this recruitment for Hogwarts business for the better of two weeks to scrape a few extra Galleons for their child due in a month.

"Auror Weasley?"

"If it's my wife again, show her the door, Denise."

"Problems at home, Weasley?"

Ron fumbled with the papers he was holding as he looked up to see Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, smiling down at him kindly.

"S-sir, I'm sorry…" Ron fumbled embarrassedly, quite unsure how to make up for what he had just said. "I just…"

"It's okay, I understand," Shacklebolt replied in his soothing voice, "Potter told me his wife nearly strangled him last week for being five minutes late for dinner."

Ron smiled meekly in return as he tried to surreptitiously organize his desk into a more dignified manner.

"Did you need something, Minister?" Ron asked, hoping he didn't sound as strained as he felt.

"Actually, Pomona Sprout was just telling me of a late applicant for the position of Herbology Professor. She would like to give you her recommendation for the candidate personally."

"But applications were due last Tuesday," Ron muttered wearily, rubbing his temples. "I can't just make exceptions—"

"I know, Weasley, but I think we can make an exception for this one. Just trust me on this."

Ron sighed and nodded his head. He nearly jumped a foot in the air as a large hand was placed comfortingly on his shoulder.

"I can handle the rest of this, Weasley. Go on."

Ron had little say as the Minister practically picked him up with just the hand on his shoulder and gave him an encouraging push toward the door, before taking residence at the desk and ruffling through the papers.

"How on earth can he consider this organized? And I thought Potter's records were bad…."

Ron smiled a bit at the Minister's grumble before leaving the room.

"Auror Weasley," Denise called as Ron passed her desk. "The Minister set up a Portkey for you."

"Oh," Ron said, glancing at the old tea kettle Denise indicated to be the Portkey. "Thank you, Denise."

"Whenever you're ready, sir."

Ron reached out and grabbed the Portkey, and the secretary's office was gone with a pull behind his navel. Colors whirled by and he felt slightly sick before his feet landed on solid ground.

He glanced around at the office, knowing immediately he was not in the right place. Faces of old Headmasters of Hogwarts looked curiously at him as he tried to figure out why he was in McGonagall's office instead of Sprout's.

"Ah, good evening, Mr. Weasley."

Ron jumped a bit, hearing the voice of his old hero, one he had not heard in many years.

"Oh, hi Professor," Ron said, feeling awkward as he waved at the smiling portrait of the deceased Headmaster Dumbledore. "Er, do you know where Professor Sprout is?"

"Minerva has just gone to retrieve her. I told her that I would gladly keep you company until she returned."

"Right then," Ron mumbled, feeling slightly disturbed at talking to a dead man's portrait. "So…how's Hogwarts been? I haven't visited in a while."

"Going along quite swimmingly," Dumbledore beamed. "No one would be the wiser to the fact that we held a monumental battle only eight years ago."

"Has it been that long already?" Ron whistled, glancing out the window to the dark grounds below.

"Hard to imagine sometimes, I know. But how have you been, Mr. Weasley? You are looking a bit under the weather. I hope you have been taking care of yourself."

"I've been trying to," Ron said with a shrug. "I've been trying to support a family is all."

"Ah, has Hermione had the baby then? Congratulations!"

"No, not yet, sir. She's due next month."

"Well, then you are on the final stretch. It always seems to be the most trying."

"I couldn't agree with you more sir."

They stood around—well, Ron stood…Dumbledore just…hung there—in companionable silence for a few moments.

"Is there something troubling you, Mr. Weasley? Apart from Hermione?"

He knew. He _always _knew. Ron wasn't quite sure why he was still surprised by this.

"Ginny and Harry had their second son yesterday."

Dumbledore blinked serenely at him, and Ron felt the rest of his story get caught in his throat.

"A true blessing for the parents, I'm sure."

Ron nodded as he ran a hand through his hair and glanced back out the darkened window.

"What is the child's name?"

Apparently it didn't matter if the man was only a picture of his former self; he could still read minds just as well as he could when he was walking around with the living.

"Albus."

"Yes, Ronald?"

"No," Ron said with a small laugh. "That's his name. Albus…_Severus_…Potter."

"Oh dear, Albus, you say? A bit old fashioned if I do say so myself…I can see why you would be upset."

Ron had always known the old Headmaster to be a bit off his rocker, and he looked at him for a moment to tell him so, but when he looked at the portrait, he could see a knowing grin behind the Professor's beard.

"What has our late Potions Professor done to offend you, Mr. Weasley?"

"I don't have any reason to be offended, sir," but Ron snorted, as if he didn't believe himself. "You trusted him, he helped us on our Horcrux mission…we wouldn't have won the war without him."

"And yet you are upset, Mr. Weasley."

Ron smiled wryly and tried to look at anything other than the creepily twinkling eyes of the portrait.

"Just because he helped us didn't mean I liked him, sir. He cut off my brother's ear and was unwarrantedly vindictive to Harry and Hermione and me all through school."

"Some prejudices are hard to forget," Dumbledore nodded, but he didn't seem angry with him.

"I guess so, sir," Ron shrugged, not offended by the remark.

Dumbledore surveyed the young Auror a little while before breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them.

"Mr. Weasley, would you like to do me a favor?"

"Er," Ron said, glancing up from the spot on the floor he was staring at, "of course, sir."

"Right in that cabinet over there, would you like to get out my old Pensieve for me?"

Dumbledore pointed to a cabinet in the corner, and Ron went over and opened it to pull out the Pensieve.

"Where would you like it?" Ron asked, heaving it over to the portrait.

"Right on the desk is fine, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore replied as Ron lugged the magical basin onto McGonagall's desk. "And now, if you would be so kind, would you tap the bottom of the cabinet with your wand and say the incantation _Specialis Revelio_?"

Ron swore under his breath, wondering why he hadn't just magicked the heavy basin to the desk, before heading back over to the cabinet and doing what the portrait asked of him.

"_Specialis Revelio_," Ron tapped his wand on the bottom of the inside cabinet and was surprised as the bottom disappeared, revealing a secret compartment where an assortment of small vials resided, the contents of each glowing an iridescent silver.

"There should be one labeled _July 27, 1997_. Will you please pull it out?"

Ron fished through the vials, trying to read the messy scrawl of the labels in the dim light. He finally found it, pulling out the small vial and carrying it back over to the desk.

"You may pour the contents into the Pensieve, Mr. Weasley."

Ron pulled the cork from the vial and emptied the memory into the basin. He swirled it around with his wand again, watching as it settled in the liquidy gas (or was it a gassy liquid?) for a moment, before a picture began to form.

"Um, sir? Do you want me to…"

"You do not have to enter the memory, no. But I would like it if you would watch."

Ron peered over the basin, watching the memory unfold, and was unsurprised as Snape appeared on the scene, descending on an unoccupied field in the dead of night.

Or perhaps not so unoccupied, as he walked toward a prone figure on the ground. His head bowed, perhaps in some silent form of grief or reflection.

Ron's breath hitched as he realized Snape was looking down at the corpse of Alastor Moody.

"_The Dark Lord sent me to collect the remains of the old duffer_."

Ron's blood turned cold just as Snape turned around to inspect the newcomer contemptuously.

"_I heard, and I came to help_."

"_Obviously_."

Bellatrix Lestrange sauntered over, a very familiar broomstick and wand in hand.

"_Should we take him in pieces_?" she cackled, aiming the wand that was familiar to Ron yet did not belong to her.

"_I do not think such an uncouth method will be necessary, Bellatrix. Besides, if we are giving the body to the Ministry, they will need it well preserved_."

"_You never let me have any fun, Severus_." But she grinned maniacally, flashing crooked, yellow teeth. "Evanesco."

Moody's corpse vanished, and Snape raised a condescending eyebrow.

"_Very impressive, Bellatrix._"

But Bellatrix Lestrange was frowning, leering at the new wand in her grasp.

"_I don't know, Severus. I thought my new wand might be a nice change, but I think I like my own wand more._"

"_Why would you want to change in the first place_?"

Here, Bellatrix dropped her sneer and replaced it with her wretched grin.

"_It's a trophy I won tonight. One of the imposter Potter's wands. I can only imagine how baby Harry would react if he saw me holding this. But it's far too long; I'd rather forgo it_—"

Bellatrix went to snap the wand that Ron knew to be his, but Snape interrupted.

"_Perhaps I may try it?_"

The witch eyed him suspiciously but handed the wand over to him. Snape fingered it delicately, and Ron's skin crawled to know that the Potions Master had ever held his wand so adroitly.

"_You got their broom as well, I see_," he said without taking his eyes off the wand.

"_Yes, and I intend to get full use out of it_," she said, hanging onto the broom defensively, as if afraid Snape would try to steal it away as well.

"_By all means_," he muttered, his eyes still roving the wand. "_And what of the imposter?_"

Bellatrix shrugged but her eyes gleamed maliciously.

"_No body has been found, but with any luck we'll find it right next to my dear cousin's soon enough._"

Ron could not detect if this statement had any effect on the Potions Professor.

"_Then I suppose we'd best be off. I'll scout to the north, if you'd like to take the south?_"

Bellatrix's gaze lingered on the wand still in Snape's hand, but she shrugged it off as she gracefully swung her leg back over the broom and took off south as he had suggested.

Snape watched her leave with his eyes narrowed, only moving once she was out of sight. He turned to where Moody had been lying only minutes before, kneeling down in the unkempt grasses and laying the wand down amidst the weeds.

"_Good luck, Mr. Weasley._"

Ron's brow furrowed as Snape stood back up and walked off in the opposite direction his colleague had taken. The memory faded and Ron was left staring at the dark liquid-gas substance swirling in the basin.

"Perhaps Severus Snape was not an exceptionally kind man, but he did have an exceptional character."

Ron jumped and glanced back at the portrait of Dumbledore, who was looking seriously at him.

"He made many mistakes in his life, that I do not doubt; but he had many redeeming qualities as well."

Ron wasn't sure how to respond, so said nothing. Dumbledore seemed to understand as he continued.

"Could you please return the memory to its rightful place, Mr. Weasley? I doubt highly Professor Snape would appreciate others finding out about his personal effects."

Ron nodded and set to work, fishing out the memory with his wand and replacing it in the vial, before returning it and the Pensieve back into the cabinet, not before making sure all of the memories were safely concealed once again.

"I don't…I don't think…" Ron finally said, once the office was back to the way it was before, "I don't think one act of kindness on my behalf can replace all those of him being spiteful and cruel."

Dumbledore's smile returned, clearly unsurprised by his reaction.

"I don't think it should, Mr. Weasley."

"Then…then what does it matter?"

"Perhaps the only thing that does matter, Ronald, is that you love your nephew. Harry had his reasons for choosing the name that he did; you may not understand it, but as long as you love him, that should be all that matters."

If Harry was able to overlook all the horrid things Snape ever did to him, if he was able to see the good that Snape did—not even including saving Ron's wand, for he did not know of it—then maybe that should be enough. Maybe trust and love would have to be enough.

"I can see why Harry named his son after you, sir," Ron said with a smile.

"I am not sure if portraits can blush, Mr. Weasley, but I assure you that if I could I would be."

"I think…" Ron said, feeling suddenly impulsive, "I think I need to go."

"I think that would be a splendid idea. I shall make your excuses with Minerva."

"Right," Ron said, heading over to the fireplace. "But first, Professor…" Ron glanced at the floor, only now feeling embarrassed and his ears undoubtedly turned pink. "Thanks."

"No, I must thank you, Mr. Weasley. Your courage is inspirational."

"I'd hardly call myself courageous, sir," he replied, and now he was certain he could feel heat radiating from his ears.

"Then we must agree to disagree, Ronald. It is easy to be right; it is quite another to admit to one's mistakes."

"I make a lot of them sir; you'd think I'd get used to it by now."

Ron smiled at his weak joke effort, but Dumbledore surveyed him with a look Ron was unfamiliar with. It made him slightly uneasy and he tried to reach for the Floo Powder surreptitiously.

"You are quite a remarkable young man, Mr. Weasley. I'm ashamed I did not get to know you better while I was alive."

"Er," Ron said, freezing as his hand was halfway to the powder and quite unsure how to respond to that. "I'm…sorry?"

Dumbledore just chuckled before Ron's suspended hand.

"Enjoy your nephew, Mr. Weasley, and please send my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Potter."

"Thank you, sir," Ron replied with quite a bit of relief, grabbing a handful of Floo Powder and tossing it into the fireplace.

He did not hesitate as he stepped into the emerald flames and shouted out his destination, ready to meet his new nephew.

* * *

"Let me get this straight," Rosie said as Ron finished. "Hugo and I had to suffer through a story about our cousin Al over a piece of _cheese_?!"

"And what was the moral anyway?" Hugo demanded, confusion written all over his face. "Al's middle name is silly? I already know that one!"

Ron grimaced as his children tried arguing with him over the importance of the story he had just finished telling.

"I'm saying that you should be thankful with what you have, even if it doesn't seem like much!" Ron tried to shout over their protestations, but he was drowned out by Rosie's shriek.

"I _refuse_ to be thankful for cheese that fell on the floor!"

* * *

**A/n**: Sorry the ending's so short, guys; but I thought it went well with the chapter.

Thanks so much to all of my new and lovely reviewers! You guys are awesome and kind and I am so thankful for each and every one of you!

For all those celebrating the holiday, Happy Thanksgiving! And for all of those not celebrating the holiday, Happy Thursday!

-dieselwriter


	14. Boys

**A/n: **This could arguably be the fluffiest chapter to date. If you killed all the puppies in the world and stuffed them with the fluff in this chapter, no one would complain because they would be the most ridiculously cuddly things ever. And it's _little kid_ fluff, too. How terrible is that? I'm losing all cool points after writing this.

Also, expect a new twist to this chapter. I'm sure it will be enjoyed by all.

**Dedication**: Dedicated as a celebration to the book that influenced the title of this fic, _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. I haven't gotten my copy yet, but I hope to soon and I hope to read it fast!

Also dedicated to my wonderful sister, akaccino. She's officially 16 and not a brat, and that's why she gets her own chapter.

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter Fourteen: The Tale(s) of Boys**

This was wrong. This was _very _wrong.

"He didn't!"

"It's true! He did!"

Ron winced as the giggles rained down on him, as painful to his ears as Harry's wailing egg back in fourth year.

"That's so sweet!"

More giggles. This was _so_ very wrong.

"Hey Dad, what're you…"

Hugo stopped a few feet away from Ron, who was pressing his ear to Rosie's closed bedroom door. Hugo raised an eyebrow in suspicion as Ron's ears hastily turned pink, but as more giggles escaped from the closed door, Hugo turned around abruptly, shaking his head.

"Never mind, I don't want to know."

Ron shook his own head in embarrassment, but he couldn't help it; this was a matter of greatest importance, and he would suffer through another half hour of giggling if he got the information he was eavesdropping for.

"S-so he complimented you on your dress…then what?" little Lily asked amidst her laughter.

"Well I told him that I still wouldn't teach him the Weasley Smasher, no matter how many compliments he gave me."

"The what?"

"The Weasley Smasher! It's a Beater's move Uncle George taught me. See, first you grab the bat with both hands…"

Oh, thank Merlin. Thank Merlin and Godric and Dumbledore and, most of all, thank his little Rosie, who finally hit a topic that Ron could listen to and not cringe in pain.

"And if it works right, the Bludger should whack the guy right in the face—"

"Wouldn't that _hurt_?"

"Lily, that's the _point_!"

Ron stiffened as he thought he heard someone ascending the stairs. He had just seen Hugo return to his room, so it could only be…

He dove for the bathroom on the opposite side of the hallway and hid behind the door just in time; Hermione's bushy hair came into view a moment later as she knocked smartly on Rosie's bedroom door, unaware of Ron's covert spying attempts.

"Hey girls, I was just wondering if you'd like some hot chocolate?"

Ron could barely see the tray Hermione was holding before the door closed behind her, and he remained in his hiding spot, waiting for Hermione to reemerge and return back downstairs, no doubt to a thick bedtime book.

But five minutes passed and Hermione had yet to return, so he surreptitiously leaned around the door, as if anticipating Hermione's imminent return. Rosie's bedroom door remained closed, though, so he left the safety of the darkened bathroom and once again pressed his ear to the door.

"He _didn't_!" Hermione's incredulous voice rang out.

"He did!"

Ron fought the strong urge to pull out his hair as the giggle fest continued.

"But then Jeffrey O'Donnell came over and started poking fun at him. Boys can be such jerks sometimes. Even Bobby was when I first met him."

Ron's ears perked up, finally getting to the topic of conversation he was most keen to listen to, no matter the giggles.

"But Al's not like that," Lily piped up.

Ron grimaced, displeased that his adorable little niece had changed the subject.

"Well, Al's a special case," Hermione said. "He takes after his father."

"Just like Hugo takes after his," Rosie grumbled, and all three broke into a fit of laughter once more.

Ron scowled.

"But Uncle Ronnie wasn't like that, was he?"

Ron scowl became far more pronounced as he could practically see the smirk forming on Hermione's face.

"He was worse," Hermione replied, confirming Ron's suspicion. "He called me names and said I had no friends."

"But…but Uncle Ron loves you!" Lily said, obviously trying to process how her uncle could have been so mean to her aunt.

"Yes he does," she said, and Ron's deep frown softened a bit. "But I suppose some of the names had some truth to them…and Harry and your father were the first friends I ever made at school. Well, apart from Moaning Myrtle at least."

"Who's Moaning Myrtle?"

Ron had to place his fist in his mouth to hold in his laughter at knowing that Hermione had become so lonely as to attempt making friends with Moaning Myrtle during her early weeks at Hogwarts.

"She's a ghost that haunts a loo at Hogwarts. I used to visit her when I was lonesome. But after the troll fiasco, I needn't see her again, as your father and Uncle Harry and I became best friends."

"Oh, _please_ don't tell that story _again_," Rosie whined. "Dad tells that one at _least_ once a week!"

Ron's scowl returned in full force.

"I won't. But you'll just have to believe me when I say that, even though boys can be quite nasty, they can always…surprise you."

"How so?"

"Well," Hermione hesitated, and Ron had trouble trying to discern what she was doing now. "I've told your father that I started liking him in third year…but that's not really true."

Ron's brow furrowed in confusion. Hermione never lied to him.

"I had a bit of a crush on him since first year, only he doesn't remember the reason."

Embarrassment…that's what it was. She sounded embarrassed, so she must be blushing a bit.

"Mom, your face is as red as Hugo's hair!"

More than a bit, apparently.

"Well, I've never…told anyone this."

"Tell us!"

"Yes, please Auntie Hermione!"

Ron's scowl would become permanent this time as he ground his teeth; how come when he told a story, everyone ran away, but when Hermione started one, Rosie and Lily were all for it?!

"Well, I had just helped your Uncle Harry get through to go after Professor Quirrell and the Sorcerer's Stone, and I had to go back and get help…."

* * *

Hermione clambered her way back through the room with the troll in it, her eyes stinging from the smell of it.

It groaned or snored, she couldn't tell which, but didn't want to take any chances as she hastened her steps and opened the door to escape the awful smell.

She ran as fast as her feet would carry her down the passage and threw her weight at the door she knew led into the chess room, where they had abandoned Ron.

She scanned quickly through the remains and rubble of the chess board, which resembled a battlefield more than anything else, as she spotted Ron lying facedown on the board, right where the white queen had left him.

"RON!"

She ran forward, nearly tripping over a fragmented stone arm, before sliding on the floor next to her friend.

She carefully turned him so that he was lying on his back and felt a lump rise in her throat as she took in his pale complexion and the spectacular bruise by his left temple.

"Ron, wake up! Harry needs our help!"

She shook him but to no avail; he remained completely unresponsive as she decided on a new tactic and rose to her feet.

"C'mon, Ron, rise and shine!"

She grabbed his shoulders and heaved him into a sitting position, his head lolling onto his chest and his eyes still remaining resolutely closed.

"Ron, let's go!" she struggled to keep him from falling back down, but it was no use with his dead weight. She tried as carefully as she could to rest him down on the cold ground and lent back, debating a new plan.

She clenched her fists in frustration when none came immediately to mind, but her eyes went wide with a new kind of fear that slithered coldly down into the pit of her stomach.

She looked down at her sticky red hands with a rising panic. She stared back down at Ron, and only now noticed the matted blood in his hair. She reached shaking hands to his head and turned him so she could see several scratches as well as a deeper cut behind his ear.

"Oh my…Ron! Ron, wake up, _please_!"

He was going to die; she hadn't even bothered to check his pulse yet…he could already be dead. What could have possessed them to continue on, when their friend was hurt this bad?!

"_RON_!"

Hermione jumped back in fright as Ron's eyes snapped open and he sat up abruptly, which must have been a mistake as his eyelids fluttered and he fell back.

Hermione's initial shock fled and she shouted as she darted forward, reaching to catch his head before it hit the ground again.

"Easy, Ron; she really hit you hard."

It was by no means what she was feeling at the moment, but it was the first thing that popped up in her head to say.

"Who?" Ron shook his head, clearly disoriented as he glanced around the room with a confused expression on his face.

"C'mon, Ron," her relief at realizing he wasn't dead was short-lived, as she remembered that another friend of hers could be in a worse predicament at the moment. "We have to go send an owl to Dumbledore! Harry went on ahead to fight Snape off himself, but there's no way he'll last for long—we need to get help!"

Something in Ron's blue eyes seemed to click as he tried again to get up. Hermione hovered by his side but he succeeded at least in sitting up.

"Let's…let's go and save him then," Ron garbled, and she felt the lump rise in her throat again at seeing his struggle.

"We can't get to him, Ron; we need to send for help," she said, watching nervously as Ron shook his head a few more times, most likely an effort to clear it. "It's what we should have done in the first place, really, I can't believe we were stupid enough to think—"

"Help me up."

"—That we cou…what?"

Ron reached blindly to the right, and Hermione grasped onto his hand as he tried to use her as support in order to stand up.

"Ron, I think we should wait a little while," Hermione grunted as Ron leaned on her heavily, his arm going around her shoulder in an effort to stay on his feet. She felt her cheeks flush as he momentarily rested his head quite close to hers. "Y-you can rest for a bit…or I can go up and get help and then come back for you—"

"No, it's fine…I'm fine," he replied, picking his head back up and relinquishing his hold on her.

He somehow stumbled about three steps forward before he teetered. Hermione was at his side, but her attempt to catch him failed abysmally as she fell on the floor hard, with Ron's body falling bonelessly on top of her.

"Ron, are you okay?" she gasped, struggling with his weight on her chest.

"Mmph," was the noncommittal reply she received.

She somehow extricated herself, sitting back as she laid his head on her lap. From this angle his face looked even more worryingly pale than before.

"Ron, I think I'll just go up and get help by myself, how's that?"

His eyes opened, and he stared out at her through glazed blue eyes.

"Help for Harry?"

Something in her stomach fluttered, kind of like the way it did before opening the first page of an exam, replacing the cold dread that had been there moments before.

"Yes," she said, and she felt some strange surprise at hearing how breathless her voice sounded. "I'll get help for Harry. He'll be okay."

Ron gave her a dopey sort of grin as his eyes attempted to focus on her face.

"He's got you looking after him; he'll be fine."

The lump was back, and it was a good thing Ron had fallen unconscious again, otherwise he would have seen the tears pooling in her eyes.

"I'll look after you too, Ron."

* * *

Ron sat, stock-still, floundering for a coherent thought. He hadn't the slightest recollection of this story at all.

"Aww," Lily cooed, and a thought to at least grimace crossed his mind. "That's so sweet!"

"Dad never told us that story. And he tells us _every_ story."

Ron's thought of a grimace turned into an action. Really, were his stories that bad?

"I doubt he remembers it," Hermione replied thoughtfully. "He was hit pretty hard, and Madam Pomfrey—"

"Who's she?"

"The Hogwarts Healer," Rosie answered automatically, no doubt a habit inherited from her mother.

"Right, well," Hermione continued, "she helped Ron out, but I've asked him about it and he says he doesn't remember. Probably a result of the concussion."

"That's so romantic."

The squeals from the room made him want to grind his forehead into the door, but he resisted the urge with barely repressed disgust. It was some terrible, awful form of punishment to have his eight-year-old niece think his boyish actions romantic when he didn't even remember doing them.

"Well, I think that's as good of a bedtime story you'll get from me tonight, girls. Let's get your teeth brushed and tuck you in bed—Ron!"

Ron, who had not recognized the vibrations of Hermione's footsteps coming towards the bedroom door fast enough, was faced with a clearly startled Hermione.

"What are you doing?"

Ron's eyes shot from one end of the hallway to the other before returning to his wife.

"Er, I was…looking…umm…"

As Ron's ears turned pink, Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"What were you doing?"

Ron recognized the change of tone immediately and bit his lip fearfully.

"It's not what it looks like—"

"Well that's good, because it looks like you were spying on us."

Rosie and Lily appeared at her side suddenly, eyes wide and curious, and Ron stood up, not willing to let them watch their father and uncle go down without a fight.

"You…you didn't tell me about all that mushy crap from before."

"_Ron_," Hermione chastised for his language, casting furtive looks at their niece to make sure there was no lasting damage before continuing. "What was I supposed to say? What would you have wanted me to say? 'You sort of writhed on the floor for a bit and then I fell in love with you?' Mind, I didn't know it was love at the time, but still, is that what you would have wanted to hear?"

A frown of shame and a smile of amusement fought for dominance on his face, and judging from Hermione's own efforts to fight off a smile, he must have been making an interesting expression.

"Uncle Ronnie," Lily asked, coming up to him and tugging his shirt, "were you okay? What happened next?"

"Yeah, Dad," Rosie said, going over to stand next to her mother, "what do you remember?"

Ron's frown versus smile fight was won by neither, as both were soundly defeated by the blank face that he was succumbed to after his daughter's question.

"You…you _want_ to hear a story?"

Rosie rolled her eyes and held an amused grin similar to her mother's.

"Sure, Dad."

"I must be dreaming…" Ron said as a faraway smile floated across his face. "HUGO! HUGO, COME HERE NOW!"

Hermione and Rosie's smiles vanished as they jumped at Ron's shouts. Hugo stuck his head out of his room at his father's cries and then walked over to them.

"What is it? Are you finished spying now?"

Ron grinned in a slightly maniacal way and Hugo retreated a few steps nervously.

"Rosie wants to hear a story!"

Hugo swapped confused, worried-for-his-father's-sanity looks with his sister and mother before looking back at Ron.

"Oh…kay…."

"Oh, come on…when's the last time that's happened?!"

"Umm…never?"

"Exactly! And now you're here for it, so now I can tell it!"

Hugo continued to look bewildered, but Lily had startled giggling and it was music to Ron's ears as he scooped her up in his arms and continued with his own rendition of the story.

* * *

"C'mon, Ron, up you get!"

There was a ringing in his ears, but a voice was trying to get his attention. His head was throbbing painfully, and all he wanted was to go back to sleep, but he was suddenly being maneuvered, and the awful, nauseous sense of vertigo forced his eyes opened as he tried to orient himself.

Hermione, who had somehow been trying to roll him onto the broom next to her, shrieked and jumped back as Ron rolled over out of her grasp, panting and gasping with the exertion of not being sick.

"What're you…what're you doing?" he asked, trying to control his breathing.

"Ron, we have to send an owl to Dumbledore, and then I have to get you to the Hospital Wing," Hermione said in a rush of breath.

Ron's head throbbed as he tried to take this information in.

"Wha…why?"

"We have to get help for Harry," Hermione answered, coming over to him with a broom held tightly in both hands. "He went after Snape, remember? He needs help."

Ron tried to focus on her and the broom, but his vision was blurring. He blinked a few times to try to shake it off.

"Right…okay," he said, holding out his hand for the broom.

Hermione misunderstood him as she came forward and placed the broom on the side beside her. It floated a few inches above the ground, obediently waiting for its passengers to climb on.

"Come here," she said, holding her arms out to him.

He glanced at them in confusion.

"What're those for?"

Hermione smiled gently before crawling next to him and grabbing his arm.

"Last time you tried getting up on your own, you didn't make it very far."

This made absolutely no sense to Ron, but he didn't complain about her help as he stumbled forward towards the broom, his head pounding in defiance to the movement.

Hermione somehow helped him onto the broom before getting on herself in the front.

"Ron, just hang tight and I'll get us out of here."

He wasn't sure if she meant it literally or figuratively, but it was easier to grab her round the waist for support and she didn't complain.

If Ron weren't trying to desperately not be sick all over her back at the broom's movements, he would have been quite impressed with her flying. The few lessons they had had with Madam Hooch hadn't helped her much, but she didn't crash into anything, as to which Ron was extremely grateful.

"Ron, could you play this for me, please? I don't want to take my hands off the broom."

Ron opened his eyes, not quite remembering when he had closed them to begin with, and reached out for the wooden flute Hagrid had made for Harry for Christmas.

"What's this for?" he asked, glancing at the instrument through half-lidded eyes.

"For Fluffy," Hermione answered shortly. "Just start playing it and I'll tell you when you can stop."

Ron put the flute to his lips and blew in a rather pathetic attempt at music. But Hermione didn't reprimand him, so he must have been doing the job well enough.

His eyes were falling closed but he continued playing, hoping Hermione would tell him to stop soon so he could fall asleep. His headache was past throbbing and closer to stabbing pains, and after a particularly sharp one, the flute left his lips and he rested his head against Hermione's back, his breathing labored.

"Ron! Keep playing!" Hermione shouted fearfully in front of him as a new sound joined hers and the ringing that was already playing in his ears.

"Whassat?" Ron asked, trying to decipher the loud, booming barks that echoed painfully in his head.

"Ron, play, _please_!"

Ron dutifully put the flute back up to his lips and played, and the growls and snarls died down. It seemed only a few seconds later that Hermione spoke up again, in a much calmer voice.

"Ron, you can stop playing now. Thank you."

Ron dropped the flute abruptly, but Hermione did not complain, nor did she when he wrapped both his hands around her waist tighter as his headache reached threshold.

"Are you okay?"

He shook his head in pain and confusion.

"What're we doin'?" he slurred into her back.

She didn't speak for a while, and he didn't realize he was nodding off until her voice brought him back from the edge of sleep.

"Ron, I think you need to try to stay awake. Do you remember why we went down the trapdoor?"

"What door?" he asked, not really caring for the answer even as he asked the question.

"Come on, Ron. Snape's trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone, remember?"

Ron gave a noncommittal grunt, trying to lift his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. He noticed they seemed to be going faster, for his clothes were now whipping around his frame, making him shiver.

But they stopped abruptly, and Hermione tensed under him. Finally, they were there…wherever they were supposed to be.

"P-Professor Dumbledore!" she squeaked, but her voice seemed to be coming from down a long tunnel.

"Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?" a new voice penetrated Ron's thick mind, and he vaguely recognized it as the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He cracked his eyes open and picked his head off Hermione's back, finding the blurry outline of his hero.

"Yes, sir—"

Ron watched the blur that was Dumbledore disappear as he raced down the hall, not quite sure why he was in such a hurry. He blinked heavily as the Headmaster's shout became a distant echo.

"Hospital wing, Ms. Granger!"

Ron's eyes fell closed as slumped forward on Hermione again, worried as much as his current state would allow for her. Why did she need the hospital wing?

"You a' right?" he asked as his grip on her waist went lax.

She gave an answer but he didn't hear it as everything went dark.

* * *

"You never told me what happened to you, actually, for Dumbledore telling you to get to the hospital wing," Ron said in sudden confusion, staring pointedly at his wife.

"It was for _you_, Ron!" Hermione replied with an amused shake of her head.

"Oh, right," Ron said, ears tingeing pink. "I knew that."

"How do you remember a story where all you did was forget everything?" Rosie asked humorously. "What sense does that make?"

"None whatsoever," Ron replied. "But in my defense any time I acted out of the ordinary that night was a result of getting whacked over the head with a stone arm."

"So all that stuff mum said about falling in love with you was actually meant to be with a concussed version of you?"

Ron's self-satisfied smile disappeared as Hermione laughed. He looked down morosely at his niece, hoping to find comfort in her understanding smile, only to find her asleep in his arms.

"I'm sorry, but _why_ exactly did I have to come listen to this for?" Hugo demanded, staring at the lot of them in a way that suggested he thought they were all mad.

"Because it was sweet," Rosie said, coming over to frog-march her brother to the bathroom. "Come on, mum wants us to brush our teeth."

"But I already did!"

But Hugo's complaints fell on deaf ears as Rosie led him into the bathroom and shut the door behind them.

"You know," Ron said, turning to his wife. "I'm not quite sure my story had much of a moral."

"Well, I think it did," Hermione said with a smile, as she came forward with her arms held out expectantly.

"What're those for?" Ron asked, holding onto his niece and staring at her arms in confusion. "I can't really cuddle when I'm holding her.

"I was going to take her from you, you git," Hermione fought off a grin, putting her arms down as she realized Ron was unwilling to relinquish his hold on Lily. "Let's put her to bed."

Hermione opened the door to the bedroom and Ron walked in, carrying his niece to the cot set up for her in Rosie's bedroom.

"So what did you learn from my story?" Ron asked, laying Lily down carefully and smiling as she slept on angelically.

"Something about boys. They can say one thing to make a girl's entire day, and they don't even know it."

"That can't be true," Ron said with a frown. "What did I say to make your day?"

"You asked me if I was all right. You didn't even consider, even now, that Dumbledore was referring to you instead of me."

"Oh," Ron said, quite unsure of how to respond to that.

"Don't you remember when you told me you loved me in sixth year?"

Ron made sure the bathroom door was still shut before nodding.

"I couldn't think straight for a week. I didn't even reprimand Harry like I should have for wasting all that time trying to get to Malfoy in the Room of Requirement. I only put my head on straight in time for the Apparition Exam. Which was good, because then you started flirting with Rosmerta, but then you mentioned me obviously being perfect for the exam, and, well…you were a very irritating person to be around most of the time, Ron Weasley."

This was all said rather fast, and Ron wasn't sure exactly why he was at fault for all the crazy thoughts she held back at Hogwarts.

But he had learned long ago not to tell her that.

"_Most_ of the time?"

"There were those rare moments that I knew, with all the clarity in the world, that I wanted to deal with your inane behavior for the rest of my life."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Like right now?"

"Like whenever you're concussed," she replied with a smirk, and he lent down for a kiss that she gladly reciprocated.

But they were interrupted as the bathroom door slammed open, and a peeved but clean teethed Hugo exited, staring at his parents from the doorway a moment before shaking his head and heading back to his room, mumbling about having to listen to stories that didn't pertain to him, how he'd have clean teeth for a week now, and that he'd be having nightmares as a result of what he had just seen.

Rosie stepped out behind him, perhaps with teeth not quite as clean as her brother's, and shook her head at Hugo's retreating form.

"Boys."

* * *

**A/n**: Well, folks, a Christmas chapter is already in the works. Since finals are starting up, I doubt I'll be able to get anything out prior to the Christmas chappie. I'll do the best I can, though.

I used more creator's licensing with this chapter, and I'm all right with it. Hermione's phrase: "we were dashing up to the owlery" in Sorcerer's Stone I think could be taken into many contexts, and really, why would Hermione abandon a broom and run anyway? Riding a broom would be so much faster…if the girl were thinking then she would've stuck to the broom (especially since Ron was holding her from behind…oh wait, that's just in this story).

As always, a massive pre-Christmas thank you to all of my lovely reviewers! Massive amounts of candy canes and gingerbread men (or ginger haired men...whichever you prefer) for you all!

And again as always, reviews are appreciated! It's that cute little button right underneath; you can't miss it!

~dieselwriter


	15. Christmas, Part 1

**A/n**: Well folks, I know it's been a while, but we are awful close to Christmas and I had a sneaking suspicion a new chapter for this fic might be on some people's wish list, so here is the first of two very Christmas-y chapters.

A warning: those of you hoping for cute Weasley family fluff...well...be ready for something else...kinda....

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 15: The (First) Tale of Christmas**

"Happy Christmas Eve!"

Ron's cheerful response received a scowl from his best friend before he bent back over the pile of papers on his desk.

"I'm not quite sure what's so happy about it…"

"Oh Harry, don't be such a scrooge," Ron said, entering his friend's office fully and shutting the door behind him. "Haven't you learned by now to get your work done early on Christmas Eve?"

"Well what about you?" Harry retaliated, glancing at the pile of books in Ron's arms.

"I got all my work done three days ago."

Harry grabbed at his chest, looked mortally offended.

"You've been done for _three days_? I'm ashamed to call you my best friend."

"Laugh it up, scroogey. You're just jealous cause I'm all done with my work and Kingsley's still riding your arse."

Harry grimaced, staring down at the large quantity of papers on his desk.

"So what are the books for, then?" he asked, changing the subject. "Last minute Christmas shopping?"

"Ha, of course, because all Hermione ever wants for Christmas is a nice _book_," Ron replied with a roll of his eyes. "Not quite so, my friend. I _can't_ buy her books for presents anymore, because she has so many that I usually buy one she's already read."

"Then what're all those for?"

"For you, actually," Ron said, dumping the massive pile of books onto his desk. "Kingsley said they might be useful."

"Oh, joy of joys," Harry muttered darkly as he glanced at the cover of the top book. "Psychology books?"

"That's supposed to be my question. What d'you need psychology books for?"

"He's _got _to be kidding me," Harry grumbled, sitting back and rubbing his face wearily. "There's no way I can get started on that now."

"Get started on what?"

Harry picked up a very fragile-looking bit of parchment hidden amongst the mess on his desk and passed it on to Ron.

Ron read aloud:

"'_Release the followers of the Dark Lord and no one will be harmed'_? Ha, you're trying to figure out who wrote that threat in, aren't you?"

Harry gave Ron a withered look.

"Yes, I can see how this would amuse you."

"Sorry, it's not funny, really," Ron amended, placing the threat back on the desk. "But that case has been closed for over two months now. The trail's cold. How do you plan on figuring it out now?"

"It's taken me this long just to get my hands on the original copy. Kingsley reckons I can somehow figure it out, even when a team of Unspeakables couldn't."

"Well," Ron said, glancing over his friend's shoulder to look at the old note. "It seems like the bloke's obsessive compulsive."

"How on earth d'you figure that one?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"The writing," Ron said with a shrug.

"There _isn't _any writing," Harry replied sarcastically, apparently offended that Ron thought this a joke. "It's all been cut out of a newspaper."

"Exactly. Do you see how ridiculously _neat_ the whole thing is? It looks like someone spent the better part of a day piecing the thing together. Other death threats are just thrown together haphazardly, but this one looks as if it was done by someone wanting to get it perfect."

Harry stared at him, and Ron shrugged again self-consciously.

"Or, you know, maybe he's just really artsy. But you notice this?" he continued, pointing out the _w_ in _will_, which was written in a purple ink. "That's not from the Prophet, or any other newspaper. It's a promotional ad from George's shop."

"It's just a scrap of paper, though."

"I worked at the place for a year, Harry. I think I know what a Wheezes promotional ad looks like when I see one, even if it's been hacked up and pasted on an old bit of parchment."

"So what does that tell you?" Harry asked, now intrigued.

"Well," Ron hesitated, thinking. "Back in August before Hogwarts started up George was giving out flyers left and right for a new line of love potions. If it's from that flyer, it means this has been planned out for quite some time, which means we can't just sit back and assume he's forgotten about the whole thing like we have."

"So why haven't you bothered taking a crack at this thing, if you know so much about it?"

"Cause it was assigned to you," Ron replied with a cheeky grin. "I've finished all my work. There any way you can finish this thing later and come to the game?"

"The Annual Cannons' Charity Quidditch Match? You still bother going to those?"

"Hey, they're due," Ron piped up a defense for his favorite Quidditch team. Age and children had not assuaged his fanatic alliance. In fact, he had only spread on his zeal for the Chuddley Cannons, as Rosie and Hugo were just as big of fans as he was.

"Well, you enjoy that. Guess I'll see you all tomorrow, yeah?"

"That depends," Ron replied, looking up at Harry seriously. "Is Ginny still planning on making her Christmas cake?"

"Yes, so you'd better find a better excuse not to eat it this year than having a gastrointestinal problem that prevents you from eating everything _but_ it."

"I'll figure something out later. So are you going to be able to make it to the game or not? We have to leave in about an hour."

"Can't. I have to remember everything you just said about this threat and turn it in as a report. But you have fun watching the Cannons get slaughtered yet again."

"And you enjoy figuring out your psychopath, Mr. Scrooge," Ron said, walking out the door and closing it behind him. He smiled a bit as he heard Harry grumble behind the closed door.

Ron headed down to the Atrium, pausing briefly in front of the lift to speak to his brother Percy about the game that night.

"I'm just saying that the Arrows have an edge going into the game. But who knows? Maybe you'll finally get that Christmas miracle and the Cannons will come out on top."

"Thanks for the support, brother dearest," Ron muttered as Percy smiled at him before entering the lift.

"Enjoy it then, and I'll see you tomorrow!" Percy called out as the golden grilles shut on him and he ascended.

Ron waved him off before heading into the Atrium and Apparating home.

"Hermione?" Ron called out, closing the back door behind him as he entered the house. "Rose? Hugo?"

He went into the hallway and shouted out as someone stepped on his toe and ran off in a blur of frizzy auburn.

"Sorry, Dad!" Rosie shouted from the bathroom. "I'll be ready in a little bit!"

Ron rubbed his toe a bit before putting it back on the ground gingerly.

"We've got an hour yet, so take your time," Ron said as he headed into the kitchen.

He howled in pain again as someone new stepped on his toe.

"Sorry, Dad," Hugo's big brown eyes stared up at him. "I'm ready to go though!"

"We've still got an hour!" Ron said, entering the kitchen fully to find his wife stirring a pot on the stove.

Ron smacked himself on the forehead as he only just remembered the other errand he had neglected to run.

"Shi—oot," Ron amended, knowing his son was still behind him. "I have to run to Diagon Alley."

"But you just got in," Hermione turned around. "Why don't you sit and have some soup first?"

"Can't," Ron said, even as his stomach rumbled in protest. "I'll just pop over for a second and then we'll all have dinner before we go to the game."

"All right then," Hermione replied with a frown. "Don't take too long."

"Can I come, Dad?" Hugo tugged at his coat. "I'm all ready to go!"

"Fine by me, but we've got to go now!"

"The game starts in an hour!" Hermione shouted after them as they disappeared via the Floo network.

"What are we getting?" Hugo asked excitedly, bounding down the wintry streets of Diagon Alley five minutes later.

"I've forgotten a part of your mum's gift," Ron said, stuffing his left hand further into his pocket and holding tighter to his son's hand in his right. "Make sure you don't let go…I don't want to lose you and have to watch the Cannons without you."

"You wouldn't leave me!"

"I make no promises when it involves the Cannons."

Hugo just laughed before stopping a second to look into a display case.

"C'mon, Hugo, we're on a _strict schedule_," Ron said, adopting his best Hermione voice.

"Bud Da-ad," Hugo whined, pointing to the solid gold chess set in the window. "Lookit! How cool would it be to play with them?"

Ron cocked his head to the side and stared as the golden king tipped his crown to the father and son pair in a royal fashion. Hugo squealed in delight and Ron rolled his eyes.

"It's not necessarily the look of the chessmen, son, it's how well they take direction and how much experience they have," Ron nodded sagely, before yanking on his son's hand to hurry him along.

"That's only what people say when they have a cheap chess set," Hugo said, not noticing his father's ears tinge a bit pink that had nothing to do with the cold. "Hope I get a new set for Christmas!"

"Christmas isn't always about the presents, you know," Ron squeezed his son's hand. "I've told you the story about that, haven't I?"

"Yeah, Dad," Hugo said, an automatic attempt to dodge one of his father's stories.

"Oh, good, then it'll sound familiar!" Ron said and Hugo's attempts to pull away and run were thwarted as Ron held on tighter to his hand.

* * *

"You whore."

The unfamiliar woman was backing away from him, tears and fear in her bright blue eyes.

"I never meant it to get this far!"

_Do you think I haven't noticed the two of you whispering behind my back?_

"The hell you didn't!"

"I swear it! I love you, and only you!"

_Don't lie!_

"LIAR!"

He lifted her up only to hit her again. And as she fell, her short blonde hair was lengthening and turning darker, bushier….

"No, stop! _Please_!"

He picked her up by the throat and squeezed tightly. Her now brown eyes were begging of him to release her, but his hold did not waver. She began to choke and splutter, and just as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, a voice shouted from behind him.

_I was only saying—_

_Yeah, I get it, you don't care!_

"STOP!"

He dropped her to the ground, where the woman he loved—no, _had_ loved—lay still.

_So why are you still here?_

_Search me._

_Go home then._

"_Incarcerous_!"

The spell hit him before he could react, and scorching hot ropes wound their way up his arms. He couldn't move, couldn't say a thing…but his arms were on fire….He looked down to see the ropes had turned to serpents and were burning him.

_I get it. You choose him._

_Ron, no—please—come back, come back!_

Ron's eyes flew open and he rolled, tangled in the blankets, until he couldn't escape and he was falling off the bed.

He landed hard on the wooden floor and squeezed his eyes shut as he placed his throbbing head onto the cold floor, praying for escape from the pain in his arms and the misery in his heart.

"Ron?" Bill knocked at the door before opening it and lighting the lamps in order to see his youngest brother on the floor. "Hey, you okay?"

Ron kept his arms wrapped up in the blanket and shrugged, which was a step up from the normal denial of any and all problems.

"Arms hurt," he grumbled tiredly.

Bill's footsteps came forward and the bed creaked as he sat down heavily on it.

"You sure I can't get you any Dreamless Draught?"

Ron shook his head but kept his forehead on the floor.

"I don't want it. I don't need it."

"Yeah, you probably shouldn't start worrying about it until after the third month of nightmares."

Ron turned his head and cracked his eyes open to stare at Bill, who was looking down on him with a furrowed brow.

"C'mon, Ron, you've been having nightmares ever since you got here—"

"You don't think I know that?" Ron spat, his lack of sleep evident in his short temperament. "I'm sorry," he amended immediately, "I just…I don't belong here. I…need to go back to them."

"Ron," Bill said as he slithered to the floor to sit next to him, "I know you do. And I know you'll find them. Just…be patient. They want you back as much as you want to be back."

Ron snorted his disbelief.

"Doesn't matter if that's true or not," Ron said in a voice that clearly stated he thought Bill's statement was in fact not true. "I still have to get back to them. I'm the one who kept them from saying _his_ name."

"I think you were of more value to them than that."

Bill's reassurances did nothing to alleviate the pit in Ron's heart. That void could only be filled by his best friends. But Bill slapped his thighs and stood as if that settled the matter.

"You want anything, Ron?"

"Nah, I'm good," Ron said, standing up as well and checking the clock. "I'm going back to bed."

Bill turned to look at him from the door, and it was clear to the two brothers that Ron planned to do no such thing.

"Have a good night then."

"Happy Christmas, Bill."

Bill smiled and shut the door.

"Happy Christmas, Ron."

Ron pried off the blanket and made the bed, shivering in the cold even though his arms still burned. He went over to the lone dresser in the room and pried out some clothes to wear for the day ahead.

He hesitated as he looked on top of the dresser, the Deluminator gleaming in the lamplight. Where Bill's words failed Dumbledore's gift could usually give him some comfort, but as the days passed since he left Harry and Hermione in the tent even holding the Deluminator in his pocket couldn't assuage the guilt.

But it was better with it than without, so he placed the surprisingly warm device in his pocket and reached for the only thing that had the power to distract him from his current situation: the small wooden wireless by his bed.

He pulled his wand out and adjusted the station, trying to find any station not spreading Death Eater propaganda.

"_God rest ye, merry hippogriffs, let nothing you dismay!_" a strong, melodious tenor belted out, and Ron quickly changed the station; Fleur's Christmas fervor meant Ron's patience for carols were running thin.

Celestina Warbeck's classic "Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" sang out as he reached the next station, and Ron rapt his wand hard on top of the wireless to change the station, not willing to remember the last time he had heard that song.

"_Ron_…?"

Ron jumped, nearly falling off the bed again. He froze and listened, but his name hadn't come from the wireless, and it actually sounded like it came from someone he knew quite well….

"_…Broke his wand, crashing…._"

Her voice was fading out, and he shoved the wireless aside to pull out the Deluminator from his pocket. It did nothing out of the ordinary, but Ron stared at it as if expecting it to speak to him in Hermione's voice again, looking at it with a mixture of bewilderment, anxiousness, and some other feeling he couldn't quite place….

He compulsively clicked it and the lights went out as usual, but a new small, blue, pulsating light appeared outside the window, and Ron stared at it, mesmerized, only now realizing that the feeling he was experiencing was hope, such that he hadn't felt for the past two months.

This was it.

It took mere minutes to pack up his rucksack, and he quietly tiptoed out of the bedroom and down the hall, unlocking the backdoor and stepping out into the cold, dark night. The earliest rays of morning light were trying to make their way over the horizon, but it was still easy to spot the small blue light bobbing its way along the path to the shed. Ron followed it, nerves settling in. Even if he followed the light to Harry and Hermione, what would he say? What _could_ he say?

He ran a bit as the light disappeared from view behind the shed, and upon rounding the corner he halted in his tracks as the light floated straight toward him.

Ron backed up in surprise but couldn't get away as it settled momentarily at his chest, right by his heart. Heat was emanating from the small orb of light and he felt confidence swell in him as the light entered him, bypassing his coat, sweater, shirt, and skin.

It was a lot like hanging on to a Portkey but instead it was inside him; it was a hard sensation to explain but it didn't matter because he knew it would take him exactly where he needed to be. And it didn't matter if he didn't know what to say…all that mattered was that he was going home.

He didn't bother looking back at Shell Cottage; he closed his eyes and with 'Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Potion' playing in his head, he Disapparated.

* * *

"You know," Ron said thoughtfully as he stepped forward in line, almost next to checkout, "that was the first time in seven years that I didn't spend Christmas with your Uncle Harry. But I can certainly say that it was one of the best I ever had. I really learned what was impor…tant…."

Ron trailed off as he realized Hugo was not paying the slightest bit of attention, but rather was skimming through a book he had picked up off a display table nearby.

"Cool, Dad," he muttered, turning the page.

Ron rolled his eyes as he continued in a flat voice, "And then we all died, and Christmas was ruined."

"Cool, Dad."

Ron yanked the book out of his son's hands and pushed him toward the counter, where an open clerk with an unnaturally white smile was waiting to help them.

Ron paid for the book and the two walked out of Flourish and Blotts onto the snowy streets of Diagon Alley. Hugo pulled his mittens back on as Ron opened his new purchase and placed a small envelope inside it, before placing it all back in the bag.

"Right, let's get out of here before we catch our deaths," he looked down at Hugo before pulling up the hood of his cloak to confront the bitter wind.

Ron held onto Hugo's shoulder so he wouldn't lose him in the crowd, but he should have been paying more attention to the people milling around as he hit something mushy but solid.

"Ouch!"

"Oh, sorr—" Ron hurriedly apologized, before looking up at the person and smiling. "Neville!"

"Oh hi Ron!" Neville's round face beamed, taking in whom he had run into. "And Hugo too!"

"Hiya, Mr. Longbottom," Hugo waved shyly up at his father's friend.

"Well this is a nice surprise! What are you up to?"

"Just getting some last minute Christmas shopping done," Ron replied, holding up his newly acquired purchase. "And yourself?"

"Off to take my lady home," Neville grinned sheepishly, pointing ahead at the Leaky Cauldron. "We're due at St. Mungo's in an hour."

"We'll walk you there," Ron said, checking his watch before turning Hugo around to walk alongside Neville. "I was hoping to pop in on my brother at the shop anyway."

"Thanks," Neville said, putting his hands deep in his pockets in a sad attempt to stave off the cold.

"We're going to see Uncle George?" Hugo piped up, but the question was lost in the howling wind.

"So how have things been for you?" Ron asked.

"Fine, fine. James has been keeping me up at night, though. He keeps trying to sneak into the greenhouses looking for—excuse me!"

Ron, who had been about to guffaw at his nephew's Hogwarts antics, frowned at the cloaked figure who had just rammed his shoulder into Neville's and kept charging forward.

The cold wind blew off the man's hood, and Ron felt a cold penetrate him that had nothing to do with the foul weather.

"So like I was saying—Ron? Ron, what's wrong?"

For Ron had picked up his pace tremendously, and turned abruptly to enter his brother's shop.

"GEORGE!" Ron roared above the chaos that surrounded him in the tight shop.

"Ron?" George looked confused as he popped his head up from under the counter. "What're you doing here?"

"Watch him," he said abruptly, picking up his confused and displeased son and handing him off like a baton. "And lock the door behind me."

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately, looking from his nephew's face to his brother's.

"Just do it!" he cried as he ran out the door.

"Dad?" Hugo felt confusion hit him hard as he tried to wriggle out of his uncle's grip. But George held on strong as he walked to the shop entrance and bolted the door.

"Ladies and gents," George shouted above the melee moving about the small store room. He waited for the shoppers to become relatively quiet before continuing, "We've got a bit of a situation going on outside, so if you'd just like to head toward the back of the shop—"

Grumbles and curses were thrown around but everyone complied as they ambled their way to the back of the store, some still browsing the merchandise on their way.

"Uncle George?" Hugo asked, his annoyance at being carried around like a baby being drowned out by his worry. "What's going on?"

"I dunno," he said, taking his own advice as he walked towards the back. "But I've learned that when your dad gets that attitude, it's best to do what he says."

Hugo, having recognized his father's no nonsense tone of voice many a time himself, nodded as he tried to get a glimpse outside the window.

A crowd seemed to be forming around two people in the middle of the street. A sudden scream of pain from outside was drowned out by shrieks of fear, and Hugo watched the crowd disperse up and down the street.

More shouting, some crying, and Hugo's eyes widened with an unknown fear as there was suddenly, inexplicably nothing. A blinding, intense light, the sound of a bomb going off, screams and shouts and cries and breaking glass and then it was over.

* * *

**A/n**: A cliffhanger?! What kind of awful scrooge am I? But if you all are good little reviewers, you might find the second part to this story as a late Christmas present! (Read as: you'll get the second part in the next few days.)

So I hope you all enjoy your holidays immensely, safe travels, and thanks as always for taking the time to read my story! Loves and good tidings to all of you!

-dieselwriter


	16. Christmas, Part 2

**A/n**: After staring at this chapter for most of the day yesterday, I've come to the conclusion that it needs to be three, not two, chapters. If it wasn't, I'd be killing myself cramming way too much info in this chapter and it wouldn't get to the point I want it to. So here's the chapter, and expect the concluding chapter in the next few days.

**Note**: This chapter is pointless to read unless you read the last one, just as reading the next one will be pointless without reading its predecessors.

I've broken out my creative license for this chapter, but I'm happy with it. If you don't think what I've written is plausible that's fine, and if you're still confused on the concept I will be clearing up most of the matter in the next chapter. Just take a deep breath and remember: it's not a _bad_ thing to be confused...just adds to the mystery!

And with that out of the way, on with the story!

Last time, on _Tales:_

_More shouting, some crying, and Hugo's eyes widened with an unknown fear as there was suddenly, inexplicably nothing. A blinding, intense light, the sound of a bomb going off, screams and shouts and cries and breaking glass and then it was over._

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 16: The (Second) Tale of Christmas**

The smoke that had filtered through the broken windows was dissipating and the dust that had fallen from the ceiling was settling, but Hugo's heart was still racing a mile a minute.

George held tighter to him than ever, his breathing shallow as he tiptoed toward the door, breaking glass underneath his feet. His wand led the way and hesitated at the door; no doubt he was wondering if he should open the door at the risk of another explosion.

But Hugo wasn't willing to wait around for a decision to be made; his dad was out there, and he had to go and make sure he was okay.

"Hold up, Hugo," George said as Hugo squirmed in his grip. "We haven't been given the okay to go out yet."

"But Dad's out there!" he shouted as he continued to struggle in his uncle's arms. "He could need our help!"

"It could still be dangerous—"

"Let GO!"

Hugo landed roughly on his feet as George was blasted off his and slid backwards onto the floor away from the door in a wild display of underage magic. Some of the shell-shocked shoppers leapt forward to help George to his feet and others rushed forward in an effort to catch his nephew but they were too late; Hugo, shaking with a strange mixture of rage, power, and fear, unbolted the front door manually and opened it wide.

He ran out of the shop but had to stop mere steps out of the door, for one more step would have caused him to fall into the giant crater that stretched out to the opposite side of the street. Where his uncle's store had only suffered broken windows, every shop five up and down on both sides of the street were missing entire store fronts; the golden chess set he had been admiring earlier was gone now, as was the entire display case and the front half of the store entirely. And his uncle would be pleased, since Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop also had half the store demolished.

The entire street looked nothing short of a ghost town as the wind swept through, bitterly cold, and the stores stood gutted and empty.

But that didn't last for long; soon people were flooding the streets again, some calling and crying out for lost loved ones, others crying from injuries sustained from whatever disaster had dented the street, and still others crying over the state of their stores.

Hugo joined the din as he stood at the rim of the crater.

"DAD!" he shouted through cupped hands as his eyes roved through the charred remains littering the inside of the large hole.

The only answer to his call was his echo and the echoings of all those others calling out for something or someone. His eyes scanned the bottom but he just couldn't discern well between dirt, debris, and what could be his father from the distance he was standing at.

"DAD! DAD, WHERE ARE YOU?"

Still nothing, and Hugo was beginning to panic. He knew the next choice of action he should take as he leaned further over the edge, peering down. He estimating that, really, it wouldn't be that big of a drop if he tried to lower himself in, so he knelt down and grabbed the edge of the hole, willing himself not to be afraid and to just _do_ it, that his dad needed him and could be hurt and in trouble and—

"HUGO! NO!"

And before Hugo could gather the courage to go down into the hole, he was being snatched back up by his terrified uncle.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?!" George shouted irately into his young nephew's face, his fear, relief, and fury being displayed across his features all in a very red fashion. "You could get yourself killed!"

Hugo swallowed his tears, his own anger at his uncle stopping him losing to his confusion and fright; Uncle George _never _shouted at him.

"I'm…I-I'm s-s-sorry," he managed to get out through the lump that had formed in his throat. "B-but I think…"

He turned around to look in the hole, and his eyes focused on a suspiciously dark something near the deepest part of the crater, right at the center.

"You _weren't _thinking, you scared me half to _death_, you selfish little git—"

But the rest of his uncle's words died in his throat when his eyes joined his nephew's as they spotted a very familiar figure lying prone in the crater.

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt's brow furrowed in confusion as he stared at the wood of his heavy office door, wondering if he were imagining the distant stampeding noises coming from the hallway.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, knowing he had only ten minutes before he was supposed to clock out and go home and enjoy his Christmas Eve in peace, he _really_ hoped he was also imagining the distant arguments filtering under the door and reaching his ears.

As the door burst open and a dozen or so shouting witches and wizards scrambled into the office, the only option left was that he had fallen asleep at his desk, that he was dreaming all this.

"Sir, down at Diagon Alley—"

"Major accident—"

"Half the street blown up—"

"Someone mentioned an Auror trying to head it off—"

"No casualties reported yet—"

"QUIET!"

Kingsley's strong yet soothing voice silenced the Ministry members around him as they stared at him with distressed eyes. As his head pounded, he knew this was no dream, no matter how much he wished it to be.

"Penn, report."

A short, dark haired man stepped up, speaking in a nasally voice as if he were just getting over a cold.

"There's a giant crater in the middle of Diagon Alley, Minister."

"Very succinct."

Anderson coughed before continuing.

"Witnesses report an Auror confronting a man with a silver hand in the middle of the street. The civilian broke the Auror's arm before dropping an Exploding Potion."

"Which Auror?"

"Not sure. Witness mentioned him having red hair…he's being transferred to St. Mungo's as we speak, sir."

"His condition?"

"I'm not sure, sir."

Kingsley turned and grabbed his cloak off the back of his chair before sweeping out of the room.

"Anderson, dispatch teams to Diagon Alley. Also get someone from Obliviator Headquarters to Charing Cross Road and make sure no Muggles got wind of anything. I need damage repaired and peace restored."

"Where are you going, sir?" Anderson piped up, even as the door shut on them all.

"To find out what happened."

Kingsley's shoes clapped sharply on the ground floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries five minutes later, dividing the sea of lime green robed Healers as he reached the end of the hallway and was confronted by a squat Healer with a monobrow.

"How may I help you Minister?"

The old woman had a steely glint in her gray eyes that let Kingsley know that he was clearly uninvited to enter the room beyond her.

"I need to speak to the Auror you are attempting to heal. He has confidential information that cannot wait. I must speak with him."

"Well I am afraid it _will_ have to wait," the Healer folded her arms, not intimidated in the slightest by the Minister of Magic. "The patient has suffered a fractured wrist, severe burns, and head trauma; no one is allowed to see him until he is stable, and even then he will need his rest."

"I understand that, ma'am," Kingsley's voice sounded soothing as always, but there was a shortness to it that showed his frustration, "and I'm sorry to sound rude, but this is official Ministry business and I'm going to have to ask you to move aside."

The woman's jowls quivered as her hands moved to her hips.

"You are not allowed in this room."

Kingsley withdrew his wand and pointed it at her.

"Move."

But Kingsley did not have to perform any magic; the door behind her opened and a group of Healers began to emerge. All stopped short as they stared at the Minister of Magic and his raised wand.

"Gretchen, Minister Shacklebolt, is there a problem?" the Healer at the front of the pack asked, raising a blond eyebrow.

"I need to see the patient in this room," Kingsley said, pocketing his wand. "It's urgent."

"Of course, Minister. Please, come inside."

Gretchen stalked off and the other Healers followed suit as the lead Healer guided Kingsley into the hospital room, which only had one occupant that the minister recognized immediately.

"Mr. Weasley's head injury wasn't as bad as we had anticipated," the blond Healer said, offering a chair to Kingsley who politely declined. "And we were able to treat the fracture relatively easily. The main risk was the burns on his hands, but we've eliminated the immediate threat of shock.

"I should warn you, though, Minister; Mr. Weasley will be in quite a bit of pain. The Burn-Healing Paste can only do so much for second-degree burns as deep as his."

Kingsley swallowed and nodded, knowing what he had to do and hating himself for it.

"I'll be right outside the door if you need anything," the Healer continued, taking his wand out. "And please, don't be long; he needs his rest. _Ennervate_!"

Ron gasped and his eyes flew open, wide and terrified.

"Ron," the Healer said, leaning over to look him in the eye. "Ron, do you know where you are?"

Ron's blue eyes swept around the room before he nodded.

"Hospital," he grunted, teeth clenched.

"That's right. There's someone here who needs to ask you a few questions, all right?"

"M-my hands…" Ron stared down at the dressings on his hands, "what happened?"

"You don't remember?"

Kingsley stepped forward, his face looking crestfallen at the young injured Auror.

"Not my hands, no…"

"But you remember before? What happened?"

Ron nodded slowly, his breathing labored at trying to keep his pain in check. Kingsley surreptitiously inclined his head at the Healer, who said nothing else as he exited the room.

"I need you to tell me everything."

Ron glanced once more at his hands and took a deep, shuddering breath, before retelling his story.

* * *

"Just do it!"

Ron left his upset son and brother and ran back out the shop and onto the snowy street, ending up standing face to face with a rather confused Neville.

"Did you see where he went?"

"See…where…who?"

Ron searched further up the street and, finding nothing, grabbed Neville's arm and looked him straight in the eye.

"Neville, did you see where the bloke that shoved you went?"

"Well, that's him, isn't it?" Neville replied nervously, pointing at a man gambling back down the middle of the street.

"Watch this for me, will you Neville? Make sure to grab Hannah and get out of here as quick as you can," Ron said all this quickly, not bothering to wait for an answer as he shoved his bag into Neville's arms and turned around to elbow his way through the last minute Christmas shoppers crowding the street. "OI! YOU THERE!"

"Watch it!" some distressed shopper shouted back, even as Ron made to get around her. "These are fragile—"

"SHOVE OFF!"

Ron forced his way around the highly disgruntled and rather pudgy woman and ran into the middle of the street, finding his quarry standing only a little bit ahead of him, looking up at the sky and letting his long, unkempt hair fly wildly in the wind.

"Travis Scabior," Ron said in his best authoritative voice, clenching his wand and walking forward. "You need to come with me."

Scabior cocked his head to the side to see who was addressing him, and Ron hesitated as he took in his sunken face and the nervous twitch of his left eye.

"You want me? Please, please take me! Take me away from it!"

Ron froze in place as the man held out his left hand. Where Ron would have expected glove or flesh there was neither; instead his hand looked as though it were made of silver.

"Wh-where did you get that?"

"It latched on t'me," Scabior continued, and Ron felt even more disoriented as tears slid down the clearly deranged man's face. "I was removin' the body on the missus' orders…."

Ron tried to rewind his mind to that night he had seen the Death Eater last at Malfoy Manor…that night that had haunted his nightmares for months after…Pettigrew killing himself with that hand, and Scabior having been Stupefied earlier….

"How is that possible?" Ron asked, shaking his head in disbelief but keeping his eyes glued to the hand.

"I dunno…I dunno…but it 'elped me…it was powerful and kept me outta Azkaban…but a year ago I woke up missin' my 'and!" Here, Scabior lifted up the robe to show a bloodstained sleeve. Ron backed away a bit; repulsed more at the fact the man hadn't washed the shirt in a year rather than the fact that it was covered in blood. "It fit on like a glove before…'elped me win duels and get away from th' Ministry…but then it cut off my 'and in the dead of night! And now…and now…."

The man fell to his knees, sobbing. The passersby made a wide berth, not wanting to get too close to the unhinged man with the silver hand.

"Now I've gotta watch it, all day, all night…I don't eat, I don't sleep…I sit, I watch, I 'elp it…if I don't watch and do what it wants, it'll kill me like the rat…. "

Ron stepped forward, ready to break up the scene Scabior was making and take him into the Ministry when the silver hand shot up and grasped his wrist, hard, successfully steadying his wand arm.

"I can't stop it!" Scabior's eyes were bulging and tearful. "It's gotta mind of its own!"

Ron's reply died in his throat and a pained noise replaced it as the powerful fingers squeezed harder, making him drop his wand. He attempted to use his left hand to prize off the magical hand.

"Take me! TAKE ME, PLEASE! BEFORE IT KILLS US!"

Ron's own his yell drowned out Scabior's as the silver hand succeeded in breaking the bone. It finally let go and Scabior continued to bawl freely as Ron clutched his injured arm to himself, falling backwards onto the street and retreating to get out of range of another assault. The pedestrians watching the scene screamed at that and fled, up and down the streets and into any shop with its door unlocked.

"I don't wanna die—I don't wanna die—" Scabior practically screamed out his mantra and his left eye twitched as the silver hand now reached into the depths of his robes. It pulled out a small phial containing a blood red liquid.

"_NO_!" Ron shouted, the pain radiating from his wrist momentarily forgotten as he immediately recognized it as one of the potions he had been forced to identify back in Auror training.

The Exploding Potion.

"_I don't wanna die_! No—no—no—no—_NO_!" Scabior screeched, but he didn't even seem to be paying attention to what the hand was doing, and therefore made no move to stop the phial as it fell from his magical hand.

Ron watched it fall, knowing he wouldn't be able to get to it in time to catch. But he darted forward all the same as the hand dove back into the robe pocket and pulled out a grimy bag. As Ron's fingers caught up his wand the magical fingers grasped whatever was inside the bag and he vanished instantaneously.

A vision of Hugo and George in the building behind him caused Ron to shout the spell instinctively.

"_PROTEGO_!"

The tinkling of shattering glass, a monumental roar that certainly burst his eardrums, a blindingly bright light and intense heat, and then nothing.

* * *

"He Portkeyed away?"

Ron's breathing was shallow and sweat glistened on his face with effort as he nodded.

"I c-couldn't stop him…I'm sorry."

Kingsley smiled down kindly at him.

"It's fine, Ron. We've got to get Potter something to do anyway…every time I run into him he's goofing off with you; he needs more work."

Ron's grin turned into a pained grimace.

"You don't mind letting him know where I'm at, do you sir?"

"Not at all. I expect a full report and perhaps a memory at your earliest convenience, Weasley."

"Of course," Ron grumbled, reaching his hand up to scratch his arm before wincing, a painful reminder that he couldn't.

"Take care, then, Weasley."

"Sir?"

Kingsley stopped at the door, turning around to look at the injured Auror.

"Yes?"

"Do you know anything about George or Hugo?"

Kingsley sighed heavily before replying.

"No, Ron, I'm sorry."

Ron shrugged half-heartedly.

"Right then. Merry Christmas, Kingsley.

"Merry Christmas, Ron," Kingsley gave him a small smile as he left the room, running into the blond Healer from before.

"You've finished, sir?"

"Yes, and thank you for your cooperation," Kingsley replied in his smooth voice, but he stole a covert look down the hall in search of Gretchen and getting a surprise as he spotted someone familiar.

"A merry Christmas to you, then, sir," the Healer smiled before entering the room he had just abandoned.

The minister's heels clicked smartly down the hall again, heading straight for the young Hogwarts professor.

"Longbottom?"

Neville jumped; he had been conversing in the now silent hallway with a Healer Kingsley was displeased to identify as Gretchen. Her unibrow contracted before she turned and walked away, not wanting to converse further with either of the two men.

"Damn it all; she knew something about Ron!" Neville threw his arms in the air in exasperation.

"He's fine, I just went to speak with him."

Neville gaped at him.

"He's _fine_? I…wow, really?"

"Yes, now if you'll excuse me, I have…" Kingsley halted, thinking. "Actually, Longbottom, do you know if Weasley's brother and son made it out safely?"

"George and Hugo? They're the ones who found Ron after…it was over. They're right upstairs waiting."

"Thank you Longbottom. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Minister!" Neville waved him off enthusiastically.

Kingsley continued down the hallway, relieved and worried all the more. While Ron Weasley was healthy enough, there was now a deluded individual with a powerfully magical hand running rampant.

He was in deep thought for quite some time, insomuch that he couldn't believe when he found himself in front of Harry Potter's office—had he traveled that far already?

A swift knock, a grumbled "Come in," and he opened the door to find the bespectacled Auror stooped over a pile of papers.

"M-Minister Shacklebolt!" Harry stuttered, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"There was…" he hesitated, glancing at the familiar pile of psychology books in the corner of the room to Harry. Realization clicked in as he went a new route: "Where is the note?"

"The what, sir?"

"The note, the note I sent you earlier this week. Let me see it."

Harry blinked in confusion before turning back to the cluttered desk and fishing out an old note. He handed it off to the older man who scanned the parchment, understanding flooding him.

"I've written my report on it, sir," Harry said in a concerned tone, worried that he was in trouble.

"I don't need it."

Harry's jaw dropped in anger.

"Sir, I've just spent the last two hours on that thing and—"

"You figured out who did it then?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Well I have. And he just tried to blow up Diagon Alley."

Harry stared at him with a blank face, clearly trying to process this surprise.

"How…when…wha—who?"

"Travis Scabior."

It fit—the neatness of the note was a result of the hand, which was just as powerful as it was intricately precise.

"Sir? Kingsley? What happened? Is everyone all right?"

Kingsley shook his head and dropped the note back on the desk before looking Harry straight in the eye.

"Scabior showed up in Diagon Alley…Ron Weasley headed him off but he dropped an Exploding Potion in the middle of the street and Portkeyed out—"

"A _what_?" Harry asked faintly, his knees giving out as he sat back down on the chair, looking lost.

"He's all right, I just checked him out at St. Mungo's—"

"St…St. Mungo's…"

"Potter, pull yourself together; I've just talked to Ron...he's in pain but he'll be fine. George and Hugo found him after it was over. They're already at the hospital."

Harry's green eyes were wide but unfocused behind his glasses as he stared at all the papers on his desk.

"Potter, take the rest of the day off. Go get Hermione and get to Mungo's. See him for yourself…he'll be okay."

Harry nodded but didn't move; Kingsley slowly shuffled out of the room, glancing back at the young Auror. Harry remained sitting, eyes unblinking, and head inclined before the Minister closed the door, walking down the hall, intent on spending his Christmas Eve searching for a madman and his silver hand.

* * *

Hermione frowned and placed her chin in her hand, confused.

"Mum? What are you doing?"

Hermione started, promptly getting her hair caught in the thick needles of the Christmas tree.

"Nothing, Rose," Hermione said, untangling her hair. "Just…checking to make sure all the presents are still…safe?"

Her daughter's broad grin told her she didn't buy her story for a second.

"You were sneaking peaks, weren't you?"

"No!" Hermione answered automatically, and Rose's smile widened even more. "I mean, I just wanted to…oh will you quit it with that face?"

Rose just laughed as her mother stood up and loomed over her.

"If you must know, your father has yet to place my gift under the tree, and I was hoping he might have put it under there when I wasn't looking."

"So you _were_ sneaking peaks!"

Hermione deflated, sinking down to her daughter's level to look her in the eye.

"I think some Christmas biscuits are in order, don't you?"

"You mean before dinner?" she asked and stroked her chin in mock contemplation. "This is a bribe isn't it?"

"Probably," Hermione answered with a shrug.

"All right, then, just wanted to be sure," she replied before bounding toward the kitchen.

Hermione stood up straight again, her soft smile waning from her face as she glanced at her watch. Ron and Hugo were cutting it awfully close; they only had ten minutes left before the game started…but she was probably fussing over nothing. Knowing her boys they had run into some other raving Cannons fanatic and lost track of time, so there really wasn't much to worry about yet.

Yet Rosie was given her biscuit as well as her dinner, and now Hermione really was beginning to worry.

"Where are they?" her daughter pouted from the couch, her eyes trained on the Christmas special playing on the television but her mind obviously elsewhere. "The game's already started! We'll miss the whole thing if they don't hurry up!"

"I'm sure they'll be home soon," Hermione answered, not sure what else to say to her.

But soon clearly wasn't soon enough for Rose; with each passing minute her frown became more and more pronounced to such a point that, after ten more minutes of waiting, she looked as though she might never be able to smile again.

"I'm sure there's a reason they're so late, Rosie," Hermione said comfortingly, coming to sit next to her daughter on the couch.

"You said that twenty minutes ago," she replied with a dark tone, fingering the tassels of her black and orange Chudley Cannons scarf.

"I've sent out a Patronus, dear. We'll just have to be patient."

But Hermione wasn't sure how patient even she could be. She had sent out that messenger Patronus a half hour ago and she still hadn't received a reply. It was common for Ron to lose track of the time, especially if he ran into an old friend, but with Hugo tagging alongside him there was surely no need to be this late.

Even still, it was only fifteen minutes…perhaps she was still worrying over nothing. Even Hugo could lose track of time, given the right distraction.

Hermione watched the rather pointless television special with her daughter until it ended ten minutes later, and now she was really beginning to worry.

"Maybe we should go and try to find them?" Rosie suggested, her thoughts clearly similar to her mother's.

"Let me Floo Uncle Harry first. Maybe he knows where they are."

Hermione didn't make it halfway to the fireplace, however, before it glowed an emerald green and Harry Potter tumbled out of it, covered in soot.

"Uncle Harry?" Rosie asked, surprised at the coincidence.

"Hermione!" he coughed, dusting himself off and ignoring his niece. Hermione's blood ran cold at seeing how pale and shaken he looked.

"Where are Ron and Hugo?" she asked immediately, and her heart leapt in her throat as she read sadness from her best friend. He looked to the ground at her feet, lost and not just for words.

Rose had turned off the television and darted forward, her hands on her hips and a dangerous glint in her eye.

"Where is dad? We were supposed to leave a _half_ _hour_ ago! We're going to miss the whole game!"

Hermione watched as Harry took in his little niece, watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down nervously, watched as his green eyes darted from the child's to her own.

"He _promised_ to take us!" Rose was attempting to continue her rant, but Hermione stepped forward and placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders in order to silence her.

"Rosie, go put on your jacket."

"Are we finally going?"

"Go."

Hermione's briskness made Rose raise a suspicious eyebrow, but she said nothing more as she headed to the hall closet to fetch her coat.

"What's happened?" Hermione whispered as her daughter left the room.

"'_Mr. Scrooge_', Hermione. That's the last thing he said to me before leaving. He asked me to go and I didn't. If I had…"

"Harry," Hermione's voice wavered with emotion, reaching out to grab Harry's shaking hand. "_What happened_?"

The bespectacled Auror glanced down at her hand before looking her in the eye.

"He…there was an accident. A big one. Down in Diagon Alley."

"How are they?"

Harry swallowed before continued on in a ghost of a whisper.

"Hugo's fine…he and George are already at the hospital."

"The...the hospital?" she asked breathlessly.

Harry's momentary hesitation caused Hermione's hands to shake as tears sprang to her eyes.

"Kingsley said…an Exploding Potion…went off in the middle of the street. Scabior dropped it…Ron was trying to reason with him…."

All the color drained from her face as she listened without taking a breath.

"Kingsley said he'd be fine, though. I think we should go to St. Mungo's."

Hermione shook her head, not able to place her logical thoughts into coherent statements.

"Hugo's okay?"

"Fine. Him and George…they found him after it was over…."

Now the tears were spilling onto her cheeks and her hand flew to her mouth as she imagined her eight year old son finding her husband broken and beaten.

"Mom?"

Harry and Hermione jumped as Rosie appeared behind her, dressed up in her jacket. She froze at seeing the tears on her mother's cheeks.

"I get it. He's not coming," she said in a flat voice before turning around and running off, not before Hermione heard a faint sob of disappointment and betrayal.

Hermione had to divert her gaze as Harry ran after her, catching her on the stairs.

"Rose, wait—"

"He broke his promise!" she cried as she stomped up the steps. "I don't want you making excuses for him—"

"He's at St. Mungo's, Rose."

Rose stopped but didn't turn around.

"Why?"

"He was in a bit of an accident."

"That happens a lot."

Harry cringed at the coldness in her voice before continuing.

"Yeah, it does. But this time it's a bit more serious."

She turned around, her eyes narrowed, still distrustful.

"He's in hospital?"

Harry nodded, and the somber attitude he was displaying seemed to finally penetrate her disappointment as she came back down the stairs and grabbed his hand.

"Can we go see him then?"

"I think Dad would like that," Hermione said, surprising them both as she entered the hallway.

Rosie and Harry looked to the floor to avoid her red eyes.

"Come," she said, holding out her hands to both of them. "Let's go see him."

* * *

**A/n**: You might have guessed it, but this along with the last chapter and the next chapter were not supposed to be _Tales _chapters. I had planned a new fic and Scabior was supposed to die in the blast, but, really now, what fun would that be?

I'm sorry I've been pathetic with replying to reviews. I'll try to get around to them this time, especially because this chapter is jumpier and a bit more confusing than normal.

I hope you've all enjoyed your Christmases and/or other December-related holidays, and I wish you all a very pleasant new year as well.

-dieselwriter


	17. Christmas, Part 3

**A/n**: Is Christmas over yet? ::cries::

Guys, I'm so sorry this took so long. I really got hung up on the flashback for this chapter. But thanks to some major help from my sister, I'm really liking what it turned into. So you should definitely thank her for making this chapter (and the flashback) possible. ;)

**Note**: Seriously, why would anyone bother reading this chapter without reading the last two? If you read this chapter but not the last two you will be VERY CONFUSED. DON'T DO IT.

And with that out of the way, let's all try to get past this Christmas once and for all.

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 17: The (Third) Tale of Christmas**

George sat on the hard chair of the waiting room, his nephew sat on his lap as he continuously raked his fingers through the child's soft, bright red hair. If Hugo was displeased of the petting he did not vocalize it.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier," he said as he rhythmically stroked the child's head.

Hugo remained silent and pale, listening or thinking, George wasn't sure.

"You had me worried…and that accidental magic…it surprised me. Was that your first time?"

Hugo nodded.

"Very impressive."

Loud footsteps echoed down the hall and both Weasleys jumped to their feet, readily anticipating, and secretly dreading, the approaching Healer. Both were therefore surprised when Neville Longbottom came into view, looking disheveled.

"George!" he huffed, bending over as he grasped at a stitch in his side. "Hugo! Thank God I found you…how's Ron?"

"How did you know…?"

"I ran into Ron at Diagon Alley and he told me to get out of there…I only just heard about the attack and one of the Healers mentioned a Weasley…how is he?"

"We don't know," George answered, looking down at his resolutely quiet nephew before glancing back up at Neville. "We're waiting for the Healers to give us an update."

"Oh, right, of course," Neville stood up, looking down at the plastic bag he was holding and hesitating before holding it up to Hugo. "You mind giving this to your dad the next time you see him?"

Hugo nodded and stepped forward, grabbing the bag and going back to sit down, peaking inside it.

"He okay?" Neville whispered, nodding over to the small boy as his brow furrowed at the contents of the bag.

George glanced at Hugo, seeing more of Ron in him now than ever before. How long had it been since he had seen his brother that quiet, that startling shade of white, worrying over their father after that snake had bit him?

"I'm sure he'd be better if his dad were here."

"You want me to wait with you?"

"Nah, you should go back to your wife," George said, shooing him away. "It's Christmas Eve; you should be with family."

"So should you," Neville sighed mostly to himself, glancing behind him as if hoping Ron would come walking down the hallway. "I told Hannah that I was just coming by to check on him…I'll stop by later, okay?"

"Yeah, sounds good, Neville, thanks."

Neville waved him off and walked back down the hall, his determined strut making George wonder if he were really going back to his wife. He turned back around and sat down on the chair next to Hugo.

"So what's in the bag?"

Hugo avoided eye contact as he held out the book for his uncle to see.

"What'd he buy this for?" he asked, turning it over to glance at the back before handing it back over.

It might have been his imagination, but it seemed as though Hugo were fighting a smile before he shrugged. George sighed, leaning his head back to stare at the white ceiling.

His silent musings didn't last long as Neville came barreling back down the hall, a wide smile splitting his round face.

"George!" he yelled and doubled over again, short of breath. George remained sitting, waiting, his heart hammering in his chest. "George, I just spoke—to Kingsley—he's seen Ron—"

Now his mouth was completely dry and his hands were shaking madly.

"He's fine, George; Ron's okay."

And now he was sure his heart had stopped.

"That's…fine?"

Neville gave him a peculiar stare as his smile faltered.

"Ron's fine."

"But…" George shook his head; had he fallen asleep while waiting? Was he dreaming? He had seen his baby brother at the bottom of that hole; he had seen him with his cloak charred to a crisp, his face mired with a large, ugly bruise, his hands an angry red with white, burnt flesh…he had taken Hugo away at that point and called for help.

"Kingsley didn't give any details, but he said Ron would be all right."

George swallowed but gave a shaky grin as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Well, can…can we go see him?"

"I don't know," Neville said, "I only got to speak to Kings—"

"Mr. Weasley?"

Neville and George both jumped as a blond Healer spoke up from behind them.

"Yes?" George replied, finding his voice.

"Your brother's stable now. I can take you in to see him."

George's nerves returned as Hugo practically Apparated at his side, grabbing his uncle's hand tensely.

"I'll…I'll see you guys later, all right?" Neville piped up, obviously not wanting to intrude on the family affair as he streaked down the hall before anyone could object.

"Right, well, Ron's asleep now," the blond-haired man started off cautiously, obviously thrown off by Neville's sudden disappearance. "But he was actually in a lot better shape than what we first anticipated. The cloak he was wearing was Auror-issued fire resistant…something you helped manufacture, if I am not mistaken?"

George made a mental note to gloat after this whole mess was over.

"Well, the cloak protected him from the majority of the blast—"

"How could a piece of fabric protect him from an explosion?"

The Healer momentarily surveyed him before continuing.

"The injuries suggest that the actual impact of the explosion didn't seriously affect him."

"And how is that possible?"

"I…I am not sure," he fumbled again as he ushered them forward, down the hallway. "But my best bet is that he set up a Shield Charm. It would help absorb most of the impact. But not even the most powerful Shield Charm can counteract an Explosion Potion. The cloak protected his body from the heat but his hands still received deep second degree burns. Burn-Healing Paste was applied and seems to be working well, but we'll have to keep him for observation for a few days—"

"But—but Neville—I mean, Kings—er, the Minister…" George took a deep breath to help clear his head before he continued. "He said he was fine—"

"He will be, sir, it's just a precaution in case of infection."

George grimaced; that did _not_ sound pleasant.

"It's standard procedure, Mr. Weasley. I'm confident your brother will make a full recovery."

He stopped in front of a door and George and Hugo halted as well, their nerves kicking into high gear. The Healer smiled kindly at them both.

"He'll be asleep for a while yet, but you're welcome to go see him. My name is Healer Casey, and I'll be Ron's primary Healer for his stay at St. Mungo's. I'll be back in a little while to check up on him, but please let me know if you need anything."

He opened the door and waited patiently as they stumbled their way inside before shutting it behind them, the echoing thud sounding like they had entered a jail cell instead of a hospital room.

George and Hugo shared a nervous glance at each other before stepping further into the room, Hugo's hand still gripping tightly to his uncle's.

George scanned the figure in the lone bed in the room, and his breath hitched as his eyes roamed over his brother's heavily bandaged hands. There were also faint hints of welts across his cheeks and forehead, and a few strands of his bangs were singed. But apart from that he looked fine, much more so than he had sitting at the bottom of that hole, covered in ash, dirt, and debris.

Hugo released his hand and ran over to his father, reaching automatically for his hand before thinking better of it and settling for Ron's arm instead.

George grabbed a chair nearby and sat down, watching as Hugo delicately fingered his father's bangs, examining the burnt hair.

He jumped when Hugo turned abruptly around to face him, tears streaming down his face.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," he managed to squeak out before he dropped the sack he was carrying and launched himself at his uncle, hugging him fiercely.

George nearly fell out of the chair in surprise.

"I didn't mean to hurt you….I didn't mean to run off….I'm sorry!"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he replied soothingly, returning the hug. "You didn't hurt me too bad, it's fine."

"You were scary…you never yelled at me before…not like that."

A sob shook his little frame and George felt his heart break.

"I never had a reason to yell like that 'til today. When there's a serious situation and I tell you to do something you do it, okay?"

"Okay," he whispered as he snuggled into his uncle's chest.

George gave a weak smile as he hugged him back harder, glad to know he wouldn't be known as the scary shouting uncle from now on, and even more glad that Hugo was talking again.

They were interrupted a few minutes later as the door was practically blown off its hinges as a frightened Hermione Weasley barged into the room, her daughter clinging to her hand and looking extremely frightened (by her mother or the situation was impossible to tell). A pale-faced Harry entered hurriedly after them, looking everywhere and anywhere but his injured friend in the hospital bed.

"Hugo!"

Hugo needed no more invitation than that before he scurried over and hugged his mother with as much energy as he could muster, she doing the same in return. Rosie stood off to the side, her eyes glued to her father's bandaged hands.

"Are you all right? Did you get hurt? Did the Healers check you over?" Hermione asked, fussing over her son as she took in his white face, checking for nonexistent injuries.

"I'm okay, Mum; nothing happened to me—it was all…it was all Dad."

Hermione still clung to him as she looked over at her husband. They all stared at Ron, but he did nothing more than mumble a bit in his sleep. They all jumped as Harry moved, pulling out a chair for Hermione to sit in, which she willingly accepted after placing Hugo in her lap.

"Did you let Mum know?" George asked Harry.

"Yes, she's on her way," Harry answered in a monotone, pulling up his own chair and sitting while motioning Rosie to join him, which she did.

"Good."

They all remained silent, Harry seemingly itching to say something but unable to formulate the words.

"It's fine, Harry; you heard Healer Casey."

Harry jumped at Hermione's voice and Rosie glared at him, indignant, for he had almost dropped her as well.

"Yeah, it's really effing perfect, isn't it? Happy Christmas, it's my fault Ron's at hospital."

"Harry!" Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously as she pulled Hugo closer to him, in order to shield him from Harry's pessimistic attitude and inappropriate language. But her eyes lost their murderous glint as her gaze drifted to the white plastic bag near her husband's hospital bed.

"What's that?"

"What's what?" Harry grumbled, cuddling his niece in an attempt to alleviate his foul mood.

"That bag by the bed; whose is it?"

"Oh!" Hugo exclaimed, jumping off his mother's lap and retrieving it for his mother. "It's for you!"

"But what is it?" Hermione asked, even as she peaked inside the sack and Hugo sought residence in George's lap once more.

"Your present!" Rosie piped up. "That's why you couldn't find it under the tree earlier, Mum; Dad's been keeping it secret from you!"

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed as she pulled the book out of the sack, but she smiled nostalgically as she read the cover.

"I didn't think Ron liked buying you books?" Harry asked.

"He doesn't; he usually buys me ones I've already read."

"Then why'd he give you one?"

"That's the story!" Rosie and Hugo both spoke up and gave each other identical mischievous smiles when their mother looked highly embarrassed with them both.

"How do you know…?"

"You have to ask?" Rosie gave a sly grin.

"Dad loves telling that story," Hugo finished for her.

"Dad loves telling _any _story," Rosie amended.

George snorted at the pair of siblings and Harry gave a small smile. Cheeks still flushing, Hermione opened the book and her eyes glazed over as she picked up the frayed envelope.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, eyeing her misting eyes with slight trepidation. "What is that?"

"Uncle Harry, you're just as nosy as Mum was earlier today," Rose teased her uncle, the look on her face all too reminiscent of the playful expression her father wore so often.

"Well then you should tell them the story!" Hugo spoke up, bouncing in his uncle's lap in excitement. "Dad always likes to hear that story 'round Christmas!"

But Rose blushed, looking at her father and losing the grin she had previously been sporting.

"I dunno…I mean…Dad always tells them…I probably wouldn't be very good at it…."

"It's okay, Rose," Hermione broke out of her reverie to interrupt her daughter. "Dad loves hearing his stories probably more than he loves telling them."

Bolstered by her mother's reassurances, and only with the briefest of hesitations to glance at her father's sleeping form, she began to recite the story her father had told her multiple times before.

* * *

"Hey."

He didn't really know why he bothered saying it; Hermione was just as mad today with him as yesterday and the day before that and the day before _that_, but it had been the first time since their disastrous conversation three nights ago that he had had the courage to talk to her alone.

Of course, the whole point of only talking to her when Harry was around was to make sure he'd have his back if a flock of canaries were sent to attack him. That was turning out to be very probable if the look Hermione gave him was any indication to her current feelings.

"I, um, I was just…I got you something."

Hermione said nothing; she remained sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea out of the mug in her tense fingers. Ron crept forward, feeling as if he were provoking a large, angry Chimaera, and placed the gift on the table next to her before backing away quickly.

"It's just…it's a late Christmas present, I guess," he said, shrugging as Hermione stared at the cover coldly.

"I've already read it."

Nearly falling over at the shock of her speaking at all, he felt a strange smile bubble up inside him as he replied.

"Maybe you should check it out anyway. It might be different than you remember."

Hermione (against her better wishes, Ron suspected) picked up and opened the book, her eyebrows rising in surprise as an envelope fell out of it next to her mug. She picked it up and glared at him suspiciously before opening it.

It may have been Ron's imagination, but her brown eyes seemed to soften as she lifted the delicate silver chain out of the envelope and stared (marveling, perhaps? or was she inspecting it for imperfections?) at the small sapphire pendant.

"I knew we'd probably be Horcrux hunting come Christmas, so I got ages ago, but I was afraid I wouldn't be able to give it to you since, well, I left, but I was able to get it to you and…well…I know it's not much, but Ginny helped me pick it out. Do you like it?"

His jaw was clenched and his long fingers were entangled in each other nervously, waiting for a response. He tensed further as she dropped the necklace back in the envelope and placed it back on the table.

"All the _sweetheart_ necklaces were out of stock then?"

"I—but…what?" Ron floundered at her icy retort. "What's that got to do with…you know about that?"

Any compassion she might have felt was gone in an instant as her eyes hardened, boring into his befuddled blue eyes.

"Lavender mentioned it."

Ron highly doubted that; as far as he knew, Hermione and Lavender hadn't been on speaking terms since he had dated the latter, but he wasn't about to say anything to the contrary. Not when she had that venomous bite in her tone.

"You really think you can just expect me to _forgive _you after you buy me a present? Well, I don't want it. I don't want you."

Hermione took that moment to stare down at the book, to compose herself and the angry tears welling in her eyes. That last line tore into Ron, and had Hermione looked up from the book, she would have seen that Ron too was trying to keep himself together.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not enough."

"I know."

They stood in silence for a moment, Ron attempting to keep his hands from shaking, Hermione attempting to stave off her tears as her hands grasped onto the book for dear life, and the envelope lying on the table, neglected.

"What can I do?"

It was a desperate plea and Ron knew it, but his pride had long been laid asunder. Harry had been there to witness it three nights ago.

"Nothing."

_You are nothing, nothing, nothing to him._

A feeling Ron was all too familiar with crept into his heart, one he was sure he had put to rest along with the locket, as Hermione threw the book at him, her eyes suddenly sparked with anger even though the text missed him by a foot.

"I don't want your apologies! I don't want your presents! I wanted _you_! And you left! We thought you were dead!"

"I'm not."

"You _were_ dead to me, Ron Weasley. I got over you. You left and you shouldn't've come back!"

"I did."

The tears that had threatened to fall were now cascading down her cheeks, her eyes roving the room in case she needed something else to throw at him, while Ron was surprisingly concise if not collected, as his hands continued shaking like mad.

"I did come back, Hermione. I made a mistake; I know I did, leaving you. You and Harry…you and Harry could fight it off and I couldn't. You stayed with Harry. You should have. I was weak and I really messed things up this time, Hermione. You don't have to forgive me. I didn't ask you to and I don't expect you to. But…but I'm not dead. I'm here…you don't have to like it, but could you at least _acknowledge _me?"

He was breathing heavily and Hermione was staring at him as if he was clinically insane, but he didn't care. He'd been spending the past few days with these feeling cooped up inside, and it had just been waiting to explode out of him every time Hermione gave him a dirty look or otherwise snubbed him.

He waited as she opened her mouth, and he steeled himself, ready for the explosion.

"Do you deserve it?"

Blinking in surprise, Ron nearly blurted out the obvious answer: no. An emphatic no, a million times no. He didn't deserve her acknowledgment. He had hurt her and there was no reason for her to pay any attention to him at all anymore. There hadn't been much reason for her to pay attention to him _before _either. She was smart, pretty, and perfect; he was, well....

_We laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice, your presumption…_

But there was the lingering doubt…_didn't_ he deserve a second chance? He had fought off Voldemort's Horcrux, Slytherin's locket…he had destroyed it only after it had finished toying with his mind one last time…what was it all for if not for this moment, this chance for forgiveness? Perhaps if Hermione had known what he had gone through to get to this point….

Hermione's eyes had been dangerous slits when she first posed the question, but as she watched Ron actually think about the question—it might have been his imagination, of course—it looked as though her eyes lost their hard glint.

Even still, the answer was no. He should just say no. She was expecting a no. It was, after all, the right answer, and Hermione's obsession for right answers told him he should say no.

"I don't know."

She continued to stare at him for what felt like forever; she walked forward and Ron's breathing hitched, but all she did was pick up the book she had thrown at him.

"Thank you for the book," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ron said nothing as she walked quietly out of the tent, apologizing as she bumped into Harry at the entrance.

"She all right?" he asked, noticing the trail her tears left on her cheeks as he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder after her.

"I…I don't know," Ron said, feeling like a broken record, as he sank on the chair behind him, still attempting in vain to control his shaking hands.

"You all right?" Harry asked, green eyes locking onto his in concern.

Ron gave a half-hearted shrug and a mental slap as he repeated himself again.

"I don't know."

"Oh."

They stood in a rather uncomfortable silence before Harry piped up again.

"Anything I can do?"

"I don't—" he shook his head to stop himself from saying it a fourth time. "Nah, not really."

"Well, you want to, er, 'look for food'?" Harry asked, which was their code for 'fill me in more on what I missed while we were separated.'

"Sure, I think I might have seen some 'blackberries' a little ways away."

Ron stood up but hesitated to follow Harry out of the tent. Harry watched him with a mystified expression but Ron didn't say anything as he picked up the envelope from the kitchen table and placed it in his pocket.

"What's that for?"

Harry gave a befuddled smile as Ron mumbled an unintelligible answer before leaving the confines of the tent. He glanced sideways at Hermione, who was sitting outside the tent flap and had her nose buried in her book. She promptly ignored him, but he couldn't help but give a small grin as she read.

"We're off scavenging for blackberries, Hermione; we'll be back later."

She didn't reply, but she inclined her head to let them know she had heard him.

"Right, well, enjoy your book then."

She stared pointedly at Ron, and he thought for a moment that she was going to yell at him again, or worse yet, pretend he didn't exist, before she returned to the pages of her book.

"I will."

Ron had a bit of a skip in his step as he walked towards the bare hedges by the edge of camp. He was by no means out of hot water yet, but this was a slight improvement.

And when he was forgiven (an overt stretch of the imagination, for he could not envision when that would be, given that he could feel her glaring at the back of his head), he would be ready to try giving her the necklace again.

* * *

"And no one knows what happened to the necklace."

"That's not true; Dad lost it when the Snatcher's raided their tent."

"That's not true either," a voice rasped, causing everyone in the room to jump a foot in the air. "I found it."

Ron's eyes cracked open and he winced as he maneuvered himself into a sitting position, careful not to upset his hands anymore than necessary.

"Raided an old Death Eater hideout four months ago…only got my hands on it two weeks ago. You'd think with the whole Ministry renovation we'd get rid of all the red tape…."

The momentary stupor that had fallen over the room at Ron's sudden liveliness was broken as Hermione stood up abruptly and was at his side in an instant.

"You found it?" she asked, envelope held tightly in her hand.

"Yeah, I figured better late than never."

She pulled out the necklace, the thin silver chain and the sapphire pendant the exact same as she remembered it, and put it on. Everyone in the room looked away, keeping their groans to themselves, as Hermione then kissed her husband soundly on the lips.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Ron shifted his weight and winced, causing Hermione to return to the present situation.

"Are you all right? Do you need anything? Do you want me to call the Healer?"

"No, Hermione, relax; I don't need anything. Healer Casey gave me some good stuff," he said, his smile somewhat dopey.

"In that case," Hermione very, very lightly swatted his arm as she only half-heartedly scolded him, "what were you doing? You scared us all half to death!"

"It wasn't my fault!" Ron defended, looking aghast at this unexpected and highly unfair treatment.

"Travis Scabior?" Harry piped up, looking exceedingly solemn.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Kingsley mentioned it."

"Well, I saw him running around like a crazy person in the middle of broad day light so I dropped Hugo off at George's and went after him…."

Ron told the same story he had already told Kingsley and that Harry had heard secondhand, but as soon as he mentioned Scabior's magical left hand, Hermione interrupted him.

"Impossible!"

Ron rolled his eyes, fully expecting that remark from his wife.

"It couldn't've been Pettigrew's hand, Ron. That's impossible. Spells can't just take on a life of their own—"

"But what about Patronuses?" Rosie interjected.

"Well," Hermione stopped, thinking, "Patronuses are still under the control of the witch or wizard who casts it. Even so, with the spell caster dead, it shouldn't be possible—"

"Spells don't necessarily fade out just because the spell caster dies though, Mum," Rosie interrupted again.

Ron stared at this daughter and wife interaction, stunned.

"How on Earth d'you know all that Rose?"

"Read about it," she shrugged, blushing and avoiding her father's eye.

"Dumbledore's wards were still effective even after he passed on," Hermione admitted, reluctantly.

"And it's not like we're talking about some kiddy attempt at magic, either," George added thoughtfully. "This is an unfamiliar, dark spell that had been performed by one of the most powerful and vilest wizards of all time."

Most everyone in the room stared at him after that remark.

"What, I can't contribute?" George rolled his eyes and huffed.

"But still," Hermione said, determined to get to the bottom of this, "I've never heard of a spell being able to transfer from one person to another on its own accord."

"Hey, don't ask me about it; go talk to the hand!"

Hugo snickered at that remark, but everyone else groaned at Ron's piteous attempt at humor. Rose glared at her brother, who responded: "What? It was funny!"

"I just," Hermione said, seemingly coming to accept the fact that she could not account for this absurdity yet, "I just don't believe a spell can is able to think for itself."

"But it did; it killed Pettigrew," Harry muttered darkly. "And it nearly killed Ron."

Hermione, Rosie, and Hugo winced at that remark, while George glared fiercely at Harry. Ron, confused, watched as his brother stood up and grabbed Harry by the upper arm.

"I think we should step out of the room for a bit, if you'll excuse us—"

He didn't wait for confirmation before hauling his brother-in-law to his feet and dragging him out of the room.

It was only a brief moment later before shouting could be heard in the hallway.

"_What the _hell _is your problem?_"

"_Nothing! Everything's _fine_, isn't it?_"

"_He's in there cracking bad jokes, isn't he? What's wrong with you—_"

"_I let Pettigrew escape! Scabior wouldn't have that hand if it wasn't for me…this is all my—_"

"_Oh would you grow up? You sound pathetic—_"

"_EXCUSE ME_! _THIS IS A HOSPITAL_!"

The remaining Weasley party all avoided each other's gaze as they listened to some new contestant in the hallway fight reprimand them harshly.

"Right, well," Ron said, clearing his throat and attempting to drown out the female's voice booming throughout the room. "How're you guys doing?"

"'m okay," Hugo said shyly, snuggling into his mother's side after having been so unceremoniously forced off of his uncle's lap.

Ron turned to Rosie expectantly, but she avoided his eyes.

"What's wrong, Rose?"

Rosie turned the tassels on her scarf nervously, and Ron understood.

"Oh, Rosie, I'm so sorry; I completely forgot about the game! I bet you're mad at your old dad now, eh?"

"No!" she shouted, tears in her eyes. Ron blinked in surprise as she continued, "I mean, I was, but…" she came forward to hug him awkwardly, minding his bandaged hands, "I'm sorry, Dad."

Ron hugged her back, even as he shot his wife a confused glance. Hermione's serene smile did nothing to help him understand.

"It's okay, Rosie," he said, pulling back. "Could you do me a favor though?"

Rosie nodded her head so hard Ron was afraid she'd tip forward.

"I've got a massive itch on my nose," he said, holding up his useless hands. "You mind scratching?"

Rosie laughed a bit before reaching out her hand and scratching her father's nose.

"A little low—ahh, thank you, Rosie. You've always been my favorite."

"HEY!" Hugo shouted indignantly, jumping off his mother's lap and rushing forward to help.

"Oh good, I needed someone to get my shoulder too—ahh, right there, yeah, that's it," Ron sighed contentedly. "Oh, Hugo, you're a much better scratcher than Rose. Now we've got a competition!"

"Careful, you two," Hermione muttered worriedly but a small smile played at the corner of her mouth.

They were interrupted as the door opened, a solemn George and Harry marching back into the room as a large, unibrowed Healer followed right behind them.

"These two belong to you?" she barked, and Rose and Hugo immediately stepped back, Hugo sneaking around to hide behind his mother.

"Unfortunately," Ron said, hiding a grin.

"Please keep a better eye on them, Mr. Weasley," she muttered before turning to the two culprits, pointing a beefy finger at them. "As for you two—if you cannot respect this hospital's rules, I will be forced to escort you off the premises."

George and Harry shared a gulp before nodding, watching her as she stalked out of the room.

"Nice one, mate," Ron smiled in a reconciliatory manner.

He took it as a good sign that his friend smiled back.

"That," he said, pointing at the door, "is a scary woman."

The door barged open once again and Harry jumped behind George, clearly fearing that Gretchen the Healer had heard him, but it turned out to be Molly Weasley, flocked by Percy and Arthur.

"Georgie!" she cried out, immediately enveloping the first family member she saw in a tight embrace. "How's—"

She took a glance around the room, her eyes locking on her youngest son before she nearly flung George out of the way in her excitement.

"RONNIE!"

"No, _that's_ a scary woman," Ron whispered quietly, but Rose and Hugo heard him and giggled anyway as Mrs. Weasley swooped in, trying to hug her son without causing him more bodily damage.

"So how is he?" Arthur asked Harry, clapping him on the back.

"He'll be fine," he replied, smiling as Molly accidentally reached out for one of Ron's hands and he yelped out in pain. "I think."

"Not for long," Percy whispered, appearing at his other side. "The Arrows clobbered the Cannons 360 to 20. You want to tell him?"

As Hermione stepped up to rescue her husband from the clutches of her mother-in-law, Harry shook his head.

"Now probably wouldn't be the best time to mention that, no."

* * *

**A/n**: Okay, guys, I know you probably aren't too pleased with me, given that I left this whole plot wide open, but I wanted to be able to bring it up later. Don't worry; we'll be finding out a bit more about this hand in an upcoming chapter.

Speaking of, I've got the next 2-3 chapters planned out in my head already, but classes are starting up again, so that basically means that I don't know when the next chapter will be up. But really nice reviews usually put me in the mood to write... ;)

Leave a review and I'll reply asap, and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask! Loves as always to my lovely and wonderful reviewers; thanks so much!

~dieselwriter


	18. Fears

**A/n**: You guys remember Chapter 14, where I said it contained enough fluff to stuff all the puppies in the world? Well, let's just say that if you kill all the kittens in the world, this chapter would give a taxidermist business for a long time. FLUFF ALERT!

**Warning of DOOM**:If you do not take a gander at Chapters 9-11 and 15-17, a lot of this chapter won't make much sense. AT ALL. So if you've forgotten or haven't read them, go check them out. Especially Chapter 11.

That being said, this chapter is dedicated to my newest reviewer, AvatarTwilightObsession, who celebrated a birthday a few days ago. Happy (belated) birthday!

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 18: The Tale of Fears**

A flash of silver, a haunting, wailing cry, followed by a blinding light and Ron's eyes snapped open. He was in a cold sweat and breathing heavily, and for a moment he assumed he had awoken from his nightmare because of the echoes of a distant pain in his hands. But as he rolled over, fully intent on falling back asleep, he heard the real reason he had woken up:

"Daddy?"

Ron opened his eyes owlishly and found his son beside his bed, staring at him nervously.

"What's wrong, Hugo?" he asked sleepily.

"I had a bad dream," came the reply, and Ron heard the faint whimper in the child's voice.

"Wanna get in?"

Ron opened up the covers to his son invitingly and Hugo immediately accepted as he crawled into the bed, snuggling up against in his father's chest. Hermione, for her part, took no notice; she merely continued to sleep, far used to sleeping through storms and crying and Ron's snores to wake up for something as quiet as this.

"You wanna talk about it?" Ron spoke in a warm whisper into his son's hair.

"Not really."

A sniffle, a sigh. Ron held his son comfortingly and said nothing. After a few minutes, Ron thought the child has fallen asleep before he piped up again.

"Do you ever get scared, Dad?"

When Ron snorted at the idea, Hugo amended: "Other than spiders. They don't count."

"Why not?" Ron asked with a soft laugh.

"Because spiders are scary."

Ron smiled in the darkness, feeling a little guilty at having passed on his childhood phobia to both his children.

"I get scared all the time, Hugo. And not just because of spiders."

"Like when?"

"Well…" Ron said, contemplating. "Rosie's last Quidditch match, whenever she fell off her broom? Scared me witless."

"Dad, she wasn't even a metre off the ground when she fell. She got right back up and whacked the other team's Seeker with a Bludger."

"Still, it was frightening. I never want you or your sister to get hurt. That scares me."

Hugo hugged him tighter; apparently that fear hit close to home.

"Do you _have_ to go back to work tomorrow, Dad?"

"I do."

"Why?"

It wasn't a whine or a complaint; rather, the question had a saddened finality to it.

"Because I can't stay at home all the time; you and Rose would get sick of me real fast."

"No we wouldn't!" Hugo objected immediately, looking up at his father, finding his eyes in the darkness. "We could play chess all day!"

"All day?"

"Every day!"

"_Every _day?"

Hugo nodded emphatically, his wide brown eyes unwavering from their stare.

"And we could go play Quidditch and Gobstones and Exploding Snap, and I could teach you to play football and you could read to me—"

"Slow down!" Ron said with a slight chuckle. "We've done all that stuff over the past week, haven't we? You'd get bored of it soon."

It was true; Ron had gotten out of hospital only that afternoon, but every day during his week stay at St. Mungo's, his children had come and they had played all sorts of games.

"We didn't get to play Quidditch or football, though," Hugo said smartly.

"You can teach me football this weekend."

"Can I teach you tomorrow instead?"

"Absolutely."

But Hugo caught the implication.

"After work?"

Ron smiled and nodded.

"_Why_ do you have to go to work?"

Again, it wasn't asked in a childish whine, but was asked as a serious, if not depressed, inquiry.

"There's someone out there trying to hurt people, Hugo. I need to go stop them."

"There's someone out there trying to hurt _you_," Hugo amended, his eyes downcast again. "Can't you just stay here where it's safe?"

"If I stay here, that man could hurt someone else. If I hadn't been there to stop him Christmas Eve he could've hurt Uncle George."

"I wouldn't want Uncle George to get hurt," Hugo conceded, hugging his father tightly again. "But it's not fair that you get hurt instead."

"No, I suppose it's not," Ron conceded as well, resting his head atop the small child. "But Uncle Harry'll be working right by my side. He'll be looking out for me, and I'll look out for him. How's that?"

Hugo seemed to contemplate this thought for a long moment, and again Ron thought he might have fallen asleep before he said:

"You'll be careful?"

"Of course, Hugo."

"You'll stay safe?"

"I'll do my best."

"You'll let me teach you football tomorrow?"

"As soon as I get home."

There was a pause before he asked, in hardly more than a whisper:

"You'll come back?"

It nearly tore Ron's heart in two.

"There's no place I'd rather be."

Satisfied, Hugo snuggled further into his chest.

"You'll get me a new broom?"

"I—what? No!"

"Thought you might say yes…I was on a roll," Hugo said with a grin.

Ron tickled his sides lightly, and Hugo laughed a bit, grasping his father's sides tightly.

"There was one other time I was afraid," Ron said, suddenly remembering. Hugo groaned tiredly as his father's hands began stroking his soft hair. Ron laughed, trying to picture the memory of a night many years ago.

* * *

He was mad. He _had _to have gone mad. There was no way Harry Potter-- his best, previously sane, friend-- would ask him to climb onto the back of a blind dragon if he hadn't've gone mad.

"Harry—Harry—what are you doing?" Hermione sounded terrified, something Ron could currently easily relate to.

"Get up, climb up, come on—"

He _was _mad. Harry had somehow gotten onto the back of the dragon and was now motioning for them to do the same.

Hermione grabbed onto Harry's outstretched arm and was hoisting herself up, and that was when Ron realized that they were both nutters. There was absolutely no way in _hell_ he'd get up there. They'd have to leave without him.

Hermione looked back at him, her eyes wide as saucers, and Ron found—grudgingly, unhappily, but true all the same—that he could not bring himself to be separated from those brown orbs.

Not again.

She pleaded silently with him for only a second and that was what tipped him over; he couldn't stand to see her fearful tears again. He walked inexplicably forward to her, finding a foothold in the dragon's hind leg as he scrambled up right behind her.

The dragon, seemingly only just now to realize that it was free of its bindings, gave a deafening roar as it reared. Ron closed his eyes and lay flat on its back as it flapped its wings and soared into the cavernous air.

A night he had been trying to forget forced itself back into Ron's consciousness, a broom ride that had scarred him since; a dark, starry night; a hot, putrid breath at his neck; and complete nothingness as he fell forever, awaiting an end that hadn't come in the form he had expected.

Hermione was screaming something and the dragon was making its own deafening crashes. Ron tried to block it all out, concentrating on not falling off, on not being ill, on not reliving that nightmare again—

"_Defodio_!"

Hermione's desperate incantation made Ron open his eyes to the situation around him. The passageway they were attempting to escape was too narrow; Hermione had been trying to help the dragon out by enlarging the ceiling as a means to escape. Harry joined in with his own carving spell, and it was then Ron realized that it was a wand grasped so tightly in his fist, that it was a means to help his friends escape—

"_Defodio_!"

Ron only had eyes for the falling rock around him, aiming his wand and trying to clear a space for them to escape. Falling off wouldn't be a problem, after all, if they couldn't even escape the caverns of Gringotts.

The dragon kept clawing and breathing fire, and Harry, Hermione, and Ron kept magicking chunks of ceiling away until, finally, they reached the marble hallway of Gringotts. Sensing fresh, cool air right outside the entrance, the blind dragon stretched its wings again and took off, fighting its way into Diagon Alley and into the sky.

And now it was official. Ron had gone mad as well. Only a mad man would willingly climb onto the back of a blind dragon.

Not having to worry about blasting ceiling out of the way anymore, Ron had nothing to concentrate on now but the nausea steadily creeping into his stomach.

"SHIT!" Ron shouted at the top of his lungs, clinging to the scales, his only means of support. That would not be the case, however, if the dragon decided to roll over or turn sharply. "_SHIT_!"

He had only tried flying once after that night, that night that now felt like a lifetime ago. His friendly flight with Harry had been brought back to earth rather abruptly, however, seeing as how Ron had completely chickened out.

Chickening out was looking like a good option right about now, though.

"DAMMIT!"

The wind was whipping at his hair and robes, and the dragon dipped for only the briefest of seconds, but it gave Ron an exhilarating thrill right in his gut. He thought for a moment he really was going to be sick, but as he finally opened his eyes and found Hermione sobbing in front of him, desperately clinging onto the beast's back, he realized that this was the heady feeling he used to get when he saved a goal during a Quidditch match, or splattered an apple with his Beater's bat all over Fred when apple chunking, or when Hermione kissed him on the cheek….

"SHIT!"

His eyes were watering as a result of the wind, but he smiled broadly, giving a breathless laugh, before swearing even more.

They flew on and on, and Ron's throat hurt after a while so he stopped cursing, instead concentrating his efforts on where exactly they were going.

"What do you reckon it's looking for?" he yelled at Harry, noting that Hermione still seemed to be crying and was therefore probably unable to answer questions.

"No idea," was Harry's bellowed response.

The sun was dipping lower in the sky; twilight was fast approaching as they flew over cities and towns. The tiny lights from homes and streetlamps twinkled serenely from the darkening valleys, looking like little stars, beckoning him to a home back on the ground.

As if in answer to the call, the lights seemed to be getting larger, and it felt as if the wind had changed direction. But it was hard to tell; he had been staring at the lights for a long time, and his face was so numb he could've made up the change in wind.

"Is it my imagination," he yelled out, seeking agreement, "or are we losing height?"

Hermione did not bother looking up but Harry seemed to be looking at the surroundings, trying to confirm Ron's thoughts.

But Ron didn't need the confirmation; it was soon obvious they were lowering when the dragon flew in great spiraling circles, aiming for one of the smaller lakes below them.

"I say we jump when it gets low enough! Straight into the water before it realizes we're here!"

Ron knew without a doubt now: Harry Potter was absolutely, undeniably insane. Clamber onto a blind dragon? Sure! Fly on its back while it goes wherever the hell it wants? Why not! But there was no way—not again, not another fall—he couldn't, he wouldn't—

"_Okay_," Hermione called out faintly, still not looking up.

Ron gawked at her, surprised; she had just been sobbing, and now she was willing to follow Harry right into the dark abyss below?

She turned to look at him, her eyes still glistening with tears, and he knew his answer.

"Okay!"

"NOW!"

He hadn't expected it so soon; Harry fell over the side and plummeted feet-first toward the surface of the dark lake below them. Hermione's fear stricken eyes were still on his; he grabbed her hand without thinking and together they jumped, following their best friend.

They had had time to turn back. They'd be there for Harry and for each other, no matter what happened—even if it meant going completely barmy in the process.

* * *

"You know, I was bloody terrified of jumping, but when your mum looked at me like that, I knew I had to jump with her. If it weren't for her, I'd probably still be on the back of that dra—"

Ron frowned as a soft snore interrupted him. Glancing down he realized Hugo was fast asleep, a shadow of a smile on his face.

"Oh perfect, I'm talking to myself," Ron mumbled with a small grin, leaning forward to kiss his son goodnight on the forehead.

He closed his eyes and turned his face into the pillow, but not feeling exceptionally tired after recounting such an exciting adventure. After fifteen minutes, though, he could finally feel the warm, inviting tendrils of sleep enclose him, ready to take him off to a new dream, when someone shook his arm, calling out to him.

"Daddy?"

Ron cracked his eyes open again, focusing on the new figure at the side of the bed.

"C'mon, join the party," Ron said and Rosie smiled as she clambered into the bed with her father, mother, and brother.

* * *

Hermione kept her eyes closed and smiled, feeling exceptionally warm. Not having Ron next to her the past week made her realize how lonesome and cold it felt when waking up alone. Remembering the dream she'd just woken up from, she reached out her hand blindly for his.

She frowned when her hand captured a hand much smaller than her husband's.

Hermione opened her eyes to find her son next to her, mouth hanging open and snoring softly. Leaning over this visage of morning beauty was her daughter snuggled into the depths of her father's long, lanky arms. Rosie sported a bit of drool at the corner of her open mouth, but Hermione was concerned for her husband, who had his head buried somewhere in her daughter's tangled mane of auburn hair and could very well have suffocated during the night. It was only the loud snores coming from his end of the bed that let her know he was still alive.

The alarm clock on the bedside table let her know she had another hour before they had to get up to start the day, but Hermione found she couldn't fall back asleep.

She just wanted to stay like this forever: warm and together and oblivious to the rest of the world.

Rosie let out a surprisingly loud grunt of a snore, and Ron and Hugo followed suit in some kind of comical snoring duet.

Hermione hugged her son to herself, smiling peacefully.

Warm and together with her beautiful, barmy family.

* * *

**A/n**: I almost hate myself a little after writing this chapter. But, considering the heaviness of the last three chapters, I thought you all deserved a nice, light, fluff-tastic chapter. So here ya go!

Sorry about the belatedness of this one; college = stoopid, and any college student knows what I'm on about.

Thanks as always to all my reviewers! And if you would like to be included in the 'List of People that are TEH AWESOME', click on that cute ickle green button right below and review! All comments are appreciated!

~dieselwriter


	19. Girls

**A/n: **I'm utterly floored, guys. Completely and utterly on my back on the floor, staring at the ceiling in delighted confusion. One reason for this view of my off-white dorm ceiling is my glorious reviewers! You guys stepped up and then some to let me know how flufferific the last chapter was! I don't think I've ever gotten so many reviews for an update before! YOU ALL ROCK! And also…

The Tales of Weasley the Father is currently nominated for Outstanding Humor Fic in the 2008 Ron/Hermione Awards!

As such, this chapter is dedicated to whoever nominated me. I'm so glad you, along with all my other fantabulous readers, have been enjoying the story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. THANK YOU!

And without further ado (and to prevent myself from rambling on and on about how honored I am (VERY HONORED) and who in the academy I'd like to thank (ALL MY LOVELIES)), the next chapter:

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 19: The Tale of Girls**

It had to be a nightmare.

Ron's hands shook in fearful anger as he stood in front of the window, gaping at the scene playing out in front of his eyes.

The valentine his daughter had meticulously worked on for the better of a week was in _his _hands. _He _was staring at it with some kind of fantastical awe, seemingly unable to comprehend its beauty and the care that had been put into it. _He _gazed up into Rose's eyes, and Ron flinched at _his_ loving look.

"_NO_!" Ron shouted, pounding on the glass with all his might.

But it was useless; Rosie was smiling at _him_, holding her hands out to _him_, walking forward into _his_ arms….

"_WEASLEY_!"

Ron wrenched himself off the desk, nearly falling out of his chair. His head swiveled to the door, eyes resting on a clearly cross Senior Auror.

"Oh thank Merlin," Ron said, laughing shakily as he placed a hand over his heart.

It _had _been a nightmare.

"I fail to find the humor in this, Weasley. This is twice now that you have been asleep on the job. The Ministry does not employ you for your nap-taking ability."

Ron grimaced, shamefully staring down at the desktop and surreptitiously trying to wipe off the small puddle of drool he found on it.

"Shacklebolt told me to get this to you," Williams continued.

Ron jumped as a brick landed on his desk.

"What's this?" Ron asked stupidly, still a bit groggy from his nap.

"Came in this morning," Williams answered gruffly, folding his arms and leaning against the doorframe. "From a friend of yours."

"A friend?" Ron repeated, frowning at him before turning to the brick. A small bit of parchment was tied to it.

Brows furrowed in confusion, Ron reached out and freed the note before reading.

"'_Release the followers of the Dark Lord_…'"

His mouth went dry and he found that he could not finish the rest.

"'_And no one will be harmed_,'" Williams recited from memory, before unfolding his arms and standing above him. "Sound familiar to you?"

_Very_, thought Ron, but he remained speechless, staring at the note that was so much like its predecessor. The painstaking effort put into it was obvious; every letter was perfectly aligned and the whole message was centered right in the middle of the parchment. But where the first threat had been put together with a hodgepodge of colors and clippings from various magazines and fliers, this new one had a clear pattern.

"What do you think about this, Weasley?"

"Red," was all Ron could think to say.

The only colours used in the note were a vivid red and a pale goldenrod. The red stood out starkly and reminded Ron of the valentine his daughter had worked so hard on all week.

"And what do you make of it?"

His heart pounding in his chest and Rose's valentine on his mind, he muttered:

"Today."

"That's what Shacklebolt was afraid of," Williams nodded, clearly in tune to Ron's thought process. "He likes aiming for holidays, when people are out and about. We're only lucky he didn't try for New Year's as well."

Ron felt the vestiges of a headache coming on, but something felt wrong about this, although he couldn't quite place it.

"Shacklebolt has stationed Aurors around Diagon Alley as well as Hogsmeade—"

"Where do you want me, then?"

Williams sighed, casting him a sidelong glance.

"Shacklebolt wants you home, Weasley."

Ron's jaw dropped and he clenched the note tightly in his fist.

"_Home_? I belong out there!" he shouted, anger coursing through him as he shot up out of his seat and gestured wildly about the room. "I can talk to him, he knows me—"

"And that's exactly why we _don't _want you there," the Senior Auror replied rather calmly, given the fact he had an irate Weasley yelling at him. "You've got personal stake in this."

Ron gaped at him.

"_Personal stake_?" he repeated, looking horrified. "Just because he tried to blow up half of Diagon Alley along with myself doesn't mean I can't do my job!"

"This is not up to debate, Weasley. The Minister of Magic ordered me to send you home. So _go_."

Senior Auror and Auror stood off, face to face, jaws clenched and eyes narrowed.

"He tried to kill my brother and son," Ron whispered dangerously, talking down to Williams, seeing as how he was a good four inches shorter than he. "I _have _to help. I can't just let him—"

"Weasley…" his eyes fell to stare at Ron's hands a moment before looking back into his eyes. "We can't use you like this."

Ron swallowed hard, his own eyes staring at his shaking hands, which were a shade paler than the skin on the rest of his body.

"They're fine, I keep telling everyone—"

"_Expelliarmus_!"

The spell came out of nowhere; Ron jumped in surprise and gasped in pain as his fist was forced open, the note flying out and into the Senior Auror's waiting hand.

Ron tried shaking out his hands to alleviate the sudden stinging and swore under his breath as Williams smiled in grim satisfaction.

"It's residual pain," Williams said, averting his eyes. "You can't force it to go away. It'll go in time, but for now you're off the streets."

Ron's hands still radiated pain, but his eyes fell to the floor with his heart.

"Go home, Auror Weasley."

Williams left the room, and Ron listened to his footsteps fade away.

_Residual pain_. Ron hated the words he had heard from Healer Casey the day of his release. The skin had been Healed, but the nerves, while no longer damaged, were now quite sensitive to extreme stimuli like temperature and magic. According to Casey, it would take months for the nerves to desensitize themselves.

But Ron didn't have months. Scabior wasn't going to take months to extract revenge.

Ron sighed in defeat. There was no point in trying to disobey Shacklebolt's and Williams' orders; the Senior Auror had found the easiest way to knock him out of the fight. Pulling his wand out of his pocket, he incanted half-heartedly:

"_Accio Pain Potion_."

Ron winced at the pain the small hand movement caused before turning to catch the small potion bottle that whizzed out of the desk drawer.

It tasted awful but did the trick; his hands no longer hurt. But with one step forward, two steps back: experience taught him that in about five minutes his hands would be so numb as to be unable to perform the intricate movements necessary for proper spell casting.

Knowing this time limit, he grasped his wand in his hand and turned on the spot, thinking of home, of his family eagerly awaiting his return.

What he got instead was nearly a broken neck.

"Hu-_go_!" Ron shouted, catching himself from a nasty fall down the steps of the back porch. "What have I told you about putting your broom away?"

"He's in the kitchen, Dad!" Rosie called out from inside the house.

Ron rolled his eyes as he picked up the broom he tripped on and carried it into the house.

"Hiya, Auror Weasley."

Ron nearly had a heart attack.

After the nightmare he had experienced earlier, the grinning face of Bobby Benson playing Exploding Snap on his living room floor was a shock indeed. As was the valentine sticking out of his back pocket.

"You're home early, aren't you Dad?" Rosie asked with a curious expression, and Ron blanched at his daughter's face.

She was wearing lip gloss.

Ron said something highly unintelligible and nearly ran from the room with the broomstick, horror blinding him so much that he crashed into a short and lumpy someone in the hallway.

"Dad—Dad…." Hugo panted from down below him, sounding just as upset as he was. "You've gotta save me—"

The doorbell interrupted him and he glanced up into his father's face, looking petrified.

"Please, Dad, you can't answer that. I'll do anything—"

"Hi, is Hugo home?"

Hugo's wide, brown eyes shot to the front door, where his mother stood, opening the front door to a young girl with sleek black hair pulled back into a plait.

"I think I heard him come in," Hermione said, looking behind her to see both her son and husband glancing in her direction. "Oh, there he is, come on in, Vi."

Vi Puckle stepped into the house, spotted Hugo immediately, and waved enthusiastically.

"Hi Hughie! Wanna come out and play?"

Hugo shot his father a terrified look.

"Please, Dad, I'll do whatever you want, just _save me_!"

Ron snorted at his desperately whispered plea and glanced at the young girl's bright blue eyes. She reminded him strongly of another girl he used to know.

"Actually, Vi," he said, shoving the broom into his son's hands. "Hugo and I are going to have a nice chat about how to properly put his things away."

Hugo looked up at him gratefully as Vi looked down sadly.

"But he'll be available to play tomorrow."

The young girl's head bobbed back up, hopeful, as Hugo glared at him mutinously.

"Have a good Valentine's Day, then, Vi," Hermione said, ushering her out the door.

"Thanks a million, Dad," Hugo grumbled as he stomped to the living room, his broomstick clenched tightly in his fist. "Now she'll be back tomorrow."

Ron followed, mouth tight as they passed by Rosie and Bobby's Exploding Snap game. Father and son walked out of the house and down the back steps to the broom shed.

"She's a nightmare," Hugo growled, shaking his head as he stomped to the shed. "Won't leave me alone! _Why _did Mrs. Puckle decide to let her granddaughter stay with her?"

"She's just watching her until the weekend," Ron replied. "It's only for a few more days."

"But she _won't leave me alone_!" Hugo emphasized again, opening the door to the shed and tossing his broom into it carelessly. He looked up into his father's eyes, imploringly. "How do I make her stop, Dad?"

Those bright blue eyes flashed across Ron's memory again and he grinned.

"No, wait, stop; I don't want to know!" Hugo said, swatting the air as if battering away his question. He knew what that grin meant.

"You said you'd do whatever I want. That you'd do anything to get rid of her."

"But you didn't!" Hugo replied in exasperation. "She'll be back tomorrow—"

"But I _did _save you for today, _Hughie_. And I suppose you could also consider this punishment for leaving your broom on the steps again."

Hugo shivered at the pet name, but could find no protest to that, so he folded his arms and sat down, leaning against the side of the shed and looking seditious as his father launched into another of his stories.

* * *

"What were you doing up there with _her_?"

Ron froze at the sight of his enraged girlfriend, chanced a glance down at Hermione, before looking back at Lavender. His peek at Hermione did not go unnoticed by Lavender; that combined with his panic-stricken features seemed to enrage her completely.

"I don't…I mean, we weren't…" Ron stuttered stupidly, unsure of where to even start. "We were just—"

"I don't _want _to hear about what you were doing!" Lavender's shriek penetrated Ron's skull and he fell mute. "You shouldn't have been up there with her to begin with! I'M your girlfriend, not _her_!"

Ron grimaced and stared about the room, determined to look at anyone but her. Most everyone in the room was staring at the pair of them: a vast majority of the females were glaring at him or shooting Lavender sympathetic glances, the younger boys were sniggering at his embarrassment, but quite a few of the older males were giving him understanding glances.

"I'm _sick _of you being off with her all the time, Ron! Why are you always hanging around her when you're _my _boyfriend!"

It was a question Ron obviously wasn't supposed to answer, so he said nothing but continued to observe everything but her.

"You know what? It's fine; hang out with whoever you want! I don't…I don't care anymore."

The yelling had stopped; she sounded close to tears. Ron glanced up, feeling like it might be safe to venture a peek, and felt highly uncomfortable as he stared at her watery blue eyes, shining bright.

"I don't want to deal with this anymore. I'm through with you. We're done."

With a final wail, she turned abruptly and ran straight for Parvati, who was waiting for her with open arms. Lavender sobbed on her shoulder and Parvati sent him a disconcerted look before they disappeared up the girl's dormitories.

Ron let out a huge sigh of relief at having it all done with, and turned to Hermione, but she was gone. Glancing around the room, she was in fact nowhere to be found.

Frowning, Ron made a bee line for the first set of people he recognized, plopping down beside Dean and Ginny without even really looking at them.

"Either of you see where Hermione went?"

Ginny sent him a glare so fierce that Ron shrank back in fear of being yelled at again. But she said nothing to him as she rose from her seat and sent Dean a cold look.

"Bye, Dean."

She stalked off without a word to him; Dean watched her leave, looking utterly defeated.

"What's with her?" Ron asked in an unconcerned manner; he still vividly remembered catching him snogging his sister, after all.

"She…split up with me."

"Oh!" Ron said, surprised and unable to keep the delight out of his voice.

"Thanks for caring, mate," Dean grumbled, standing up.

But Ron stood and caught his arm.

"What?" Dean asked, looking miserable.

"Do you want a drink?"

Ron blinked in surprise at his own question; he wasn't quite sure why that was the first thing that he blurted out. An apology for his callous behavior or an offer to listen to his woes seemed more appropriate, but as Dean looked up at him, a small ray of hope in his eyes, Ron knew the invitation was the proper way to go about things of this nature.

"Fred and George sent me something for my birthday from their…_private _stock. It's up in my room."

"We've got classes tomorrow," Dean croaked, but he still had that look in his eyes that clearly said he wanted to accept the offer.

"Yeah, well Hermione told me we were working on turning vinegar into wine in Charms tomorrow. Best to get familiar with some of the materials, right?"

Dean grinned nervously as Ron steered him to the staircase leading to the boys' dormitories. They passed by Ginny, who cast the pair of them a dark look that Ron intercepted in order to spare Dean, as well as Hermione, who had resurfaced to give him a shadow of a smile that Ron returned before heading up the stairs.

They climbed up in silence to the top of the tower and entered, finding the room as empty as Ron had left it earlier. Dean flumped onto Ron's bed unceremoniously while Ron sifted through the contents of his trunk, searching for the bottle the twins had given him as part of his birthday gift.

"Here we go," Ron smiled, pulling out the bottle carefully. "_Liquid Kedavra: Concentrated Killing Curse_. _Guaranteed to kill brain cells or your money back! _Brilliant marketing strategy, naming it after an Unforgivable....Oh well, bottom's up!"

Opening the bottle, he took a swig of the Liquid Kedavra.

"Oh _shit_," Ron coughed, passing off the bottle with watering eyes to Dean, who took it gratefully. "That's strong!"

Dean took a drink for himself while Ron conjured two glasses.

"Holy harpies," Dean choked as well, before shaking his head hard to clear it. "That _is _strong!"

Dean handed Ron back the bottle, and he poured it out into the glasses. The Liquid Kedavra came out a bright green color, making Ron smirk at the twins' attempt to make it look as authentic as possible.

"Cheers, mate," Ron said, handing Dean a glass.

"Cheers!" Dean replied, as they clinked their glasses together and drank.

After a few gulps of the liquor, both Gryffindors found it easier to get down without choking on it.

"Who're we drinking to?" Dean asked as Ron filled up his glass again.

"To being a free agent again!" Ron said, slopping a bit of the green alcohol onto the floor.

"That's right; no more '_De-e-ean_," Dean mimicked the whiny tone of voice Ginny would often adopt when complaining, "_Harry getting hit over the head with a Bludger isn't funny_!'"

"Damn, wish I could've seen the match," Ron sympathized, taking another shot. "It was fun to hear, but I bet it'd've been funnier to see that."

"It _was_. Your sister has an odd sense of humor. Seems we can make fun of everyone, but Harry's off-limits to me. But what about you? Lavender's out of your life now, so no more snog sessions. That must be a hard thing to give up."

"Yeah, but no more, '_Do you consider our relationship _serious?'"

"Ha, and no more '_I can take care of myself; I don't want you touching me, even if you were trying to save me from falling into a pit of Blast-Ended Skrewts_.'"

"No more '_I want to talk about your feelings_.'"

"No more '_Don't stick up for me; I can fight my own battles_.'"

"No more _Won-Won_."

Ron grinned broadly at his own revelation, feeling at peace.

"No more _De-e-ean_," Dean answered with an equivalent tone of awe, before downing the rest of his glass and holding it out for a refill.

Well over half the bottle of Liquid Kedavra was consumed before the two of them lay down on their backs on Ron's bed, staring up at the canopy.

"You, you know," Ron said, eyes unblinking, "I wasn't ever really mad at you _specifically_ dating my sister. I was just upset that she was dating _in general_. She's my kid sister, you know."

"I know," Dean hiccupped, a drunken smile on his face, "and it's okay, mate. And you're…you're a really great mate."

"You're a pretty okay bloke yourself, Dean. Just don't start dating any other members of my family."

"Nah, Ginny was the only good-looking one of the lot."

"Oh god, we are _not _talking about that."

Dean giggled.

"Well it won't be long before some other guy's after her. Just giving you fair warning."

"I don't want to think about it," Ron closed his eyes and shook his head side to side. He stopped the motion abruptly as it made his head spin.

"I'm gonna miss her," Dean said, his smile fading. "She really was a firecracker."

"I don't want to hear it!" Ron clapped his hands over his ears. "And you can do _way _better than my sister. She's too bossy for her own good."

"Yeah, but it was kinda refreshing—"

"What're you two _doing _in here?"

Ron and Dean glanced at the door, where Seamus Finnegan was standing, looking appalled.

"Enjoying our freedom!" Ron laughed at his own joke as he shoved the bottle of Liquid Kedavra into the air victoriously.

"You've been getting pissed _without me_?" Seamus looked even more upset as he walked forward, glaring at Dean. "Why'd you leave me out of the festivities?"

"Ron's idea," Dean slurred, giving his friend a goofy grin. "Come join us!"

"What're we celebrating?"

"Why do we have to celebrate something to drink?" Dean asked, laughing as he rolled over to give Seamus room to sit on the bed. "Can't we just drink for the hell of it?"

"Well you two apparently can," Seamus answered, examining the remains of the bottle Ron handed him.

"Dean and I've both broke up with our girlfriends tonight," Ron said, but gave a look of feigned contemplation as he put his chin in his hand. "Or, rather, our girls have broken up with us."

"Same difference," Seamus replied, uncorking the bottle. "Well, mates, a toast! Courtesy of me cousin Fergus: Here's to a long life and a magical one. A quick death and an easy one. A pretty witch and an honest one. A cold pint—and another one!"

"Here here!" Dean and Ron cheered as Seamus drank.

"Great Merlin's ghost!" Seamus' eyes grew huge as he gave a wet cough. "Your brothers know how to make it strong, Ron!"

"They probably made it with Bill in mind," Ron said, a distant memory of his eldest brother and the twins going through two bottles of Firewhiskey one summer night surfacing in his mind.

"They'll probably do good business with this stuff," Seamus said, taking another swig. "I'll have to send for some—"

"Um, guys? Am I interrupting anything?"

All heads swiveled to the door, where Neville Longbottom stood, looking highly unsure of himself.

"Neville! Come join me!" Seamus roared, throwing his hands out invitingly. "These two tossers haven't left us with much, but it's a start!"

"I don't really drink, Seamus," Neville said, but Seamus was already off the bed and dragging Neville further into the room. "Besides, we've got classes tomorrow—"

"Yeah, and do ya know what we're studying?" Ron interjected, eyes alight at the very thought. "Turning vinegar into wine!"

"Brilliant!" Seamus shouted, shoving him aside to make more room on the bed for Neville. "Here, another toast, courtesy of Fergus!"

Neville looked even more uncomfortable as the bottle was forced into his hands.

"Here's to witch's kisses, and to Firewhiskey, amber clear; not as sweet as a witch's kiss, but a damn sight more sincere!"

"Here here!" Dean and Ron cheered again while Neville stared at the lot of them with fearful eyes.

"Really, guys, I can't—"

But it was a bit out of his hands as Seamus grabbed the bottle and forced it into his mouth, upending it so Neville had no choice but to drink.

"Blimey, what _is _that?" Neville spluttered, wiping his mouth off on his sleeve.

"Liquid Kedavra!" Seamus said, grinning wide at Neville's appalled reaction. "Have another, Neville; it goes down a lot easier the second time around."

"And a hell of a lot easier the tenth time around!" Dean giggled again in a very un-Gryffindor-like manner.

"No, really, I can't," Neville backed away, looking panicked as Seamus advanced on him.

"An owl with one wing can't fly, Neville."

"What does that mean?"

"It means drink up!"

It was hours later that Ron woke up, feeling rather groggy and very thirsty. But getting to the pitcher full of water on his nightstand would be very difficult, since the prone bodies of Seamus, Dean, and Neville were slumped around him, snoring loudly.

"Have a good night, Ron?"

Ron blinked heavily at Harry, who had a broad, proud grin on his face.

"Huh?"

"How was your night?" Harry asked, smiling wider at his obvious disorientation.

Ron thought on the drinking with his classmates, on his breakup with Lavender, on Hermione's shy grin, and he returned Harry's beam.

"Brilliant."

* * *

"Can drinking too much pumpkin juice really make you act like that, Dad?" Hugo asked, eyeing his father curiously.

Ron looked away with a small grin; he'd had to alter some of the details of the story or risk Hermione's wrath.

"Yes, son, pumpkin juice should only be drank in small quantities."

Hugo stood and stretched out his limbs.

"And, during any point in that story, did you remember my problem with Vi?"

Ron grinned and ruffled his son's hair.

"I thought about your problem the entire time I told that story."

"So what exactly is the advice?" Hugo groused as he tried to fix his hair.

"The advice is a simple one. It's not about what you want, and it never will be. Girls decide most everything in a relationship, so the only way you're getting rid of her is if she decides to give up on you."

"So what you're saying," Hugo said, contemplating, "is that I should annoy Vi so much that she'll decide to leave me alone?"

"What? No, I didn't say—"

"That's _brill_, Dad!" Hugo beamed up at him.

"Brill?" Ron crinkled his nose, never having heard his son use the term before.

"Yeah, you know, Dad, brill. Brilliant. I heard it from Bobby."

"I don't like it."

Hugo, smile still in place, just shook his head and started back up to the house, and Ron followed, watching the back of his son's head and wondering if Bobby was getting to him too.

Upon entering the living room, Ron was surprised to not find Rosie and Bobby at their game.

"Where's Rosie?" Ron asked, tendrils of fear working their way through his body and settling in his gut.

Hugo shrugged and ambled off towards the kitchen, no doubt drawn to the smells of dinner wafting through the house. Ron took a detour into his bedroom and sat on the bed with a sigh.

His hands were completely numb now, and he couldn't help it as his thoughts floated to Scabior and what he could be doing right now.

"Your belt doesn't match your shoes."

Ron started, sitting up to stare around the room; he had thought the room had been empty.

"Yes, you; your belt and shoes don't match."

Realizing it was the mirror talking to him, Ron looked down at his brown belt and black shoes and swore.

"Why didn't you tell me that this morning?" Ron demanded, his clumsy hands fumbling with the belt buckle.

"I tried to, but you were too busy complaining about some valentine to notice."

"Damn…stupid…belt!" Ron grumbled as he fought a losing battle with the accessory.

"Want some help?"

Ron jumped again as Hermione approached him with a smile.

"Yeah, thanks."

Hermione's small, precise hands spent no time unclasping the buckle.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

A hopeful something flared inside Ron as he looked down on his wife, working on sliding the belt off from around his waist.

"You can say that again."

Hermione stared up at him in confusion, belt in hand.

"What are you talking about?"

"Uh," Ron glanced around the room as his ears burned, "what are _you _talking about?"

Hermione looked down at the belt uncertainly before her eyes went wide and she blushed profusely.

"Oh, no! Well, I mean, yes, I suppose, but I was referring to, you know…you being hurt and all, and me, er, taking care of you."

She was a brilliant shade of scarlet as she continued to stare down at the belt.

"It doesn't match your shoes, you know," she added as an afterthought.

"Yeah, I know," Ron said, wondering how the woman he had been married to for many many years now could still make him feel like an insecure teenager at times.

"I've been trying to research that hand for you."

"Really?"

Hermione nodded; this was the first time she had mentioned doing anything of the sort. Ron himself had been playing catch-up with his other work at the Ministry after his week-long hospital stay and had therefore little opportunity to do any sort of research.

"Not much," she corrected, obviously not wanting to get his hopes up, "and I haven't really found it yet, but there are some mentionings to it in _A Complete Guide to the Dark Arts and a More Complete Guide to Avoiding Them_. They reference a few, well, _darker_ books that I've been having trouble getting my hands on. But I'll keep working on it."

"You're brilliant, you know that?" Ron said, bringing her in for a hug.

"I've been told once or twice before, yes," she said with a grin.

They stayed like that for a while, arms wrapped around each other, before Ron was struck with a thought.

"George isn't working today, is he?"

"Not that I know of…Angelina said they were going to a dinner party, so probably not. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Ron replied evasively, but Hermione pulled back to look him straight in the eye.

"Scabior's not planning another attack?" she asked, her tone subdued.

"Maybe," Ron said avoiding her wide eyes. "I've been forbidden to go check things out."

Hermione continued to watch him for a few more seconds before coming back for another hug.

"Just let me get information on him, Ron, just give me a little time. We'll figure it out, just like we always have."

He hugged her tighter, letting his nose prowl through her bushy hair, inhaling her scent.

"MO-O-OM! WHEN ARE WE EATING?"

Ron snorted into her mane at hearing his son's voice echo from the hallway. But that reminded him of something.

"Where's Rosie?" he asked, sounding far too innocent.

"Oh, well," Hermione pulled back, her cheeks flushed once again. "She's helping Bobby set the table for dinner."

It was Ron's turn to go red.

"He's staying for _dinner_?"

"Yes, and please don't bring up that valentine Rosie made for him _again_. She'll be so embarrassed."

"Brill," he muttered sarcastically.

"Brill?" Hermione repeated, looking confused.

"Brill. Brilliant."

"I don't like it," Hermione said, still frowning. "Why not just say brilliant if that's what you mea--"

Ron silenced her, feeling completely reckless and elated at her agreement, by grabbing her and kissed her soundly, lifting her off her feet.

Hermione gave a squeal of delightful surprise and, after they had separated, said with a breathless laugh: "It _has_ been a long time."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Hermione," Ron grinned widely, leaning in for more.

"MO-O-OM! DA-A-AD! I'M _HUNGRY_!"

Ron huffed at Hugo's untimely interruption but Hermione chuckled, grabbing Ron's hand and leading him out of the hall.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Ron."

* * *

**A/n: **Whew, this was a beast of a chapter. I was up at five a.m. thinking about how to end the thing. And I apologize for the delay in getting out this chapter, but I've got a few things coming up that had to take priority. Better late than never, as I always say!

And that flashback had major extensions done, namely because I thought drunk Gryffindors would be a fun thing to write. It was! Next time I'll have to include Harry.

All toasts (courtesy of Seamus courtesy of Fergus) are modified versions of classic Irish drinking toasts. I didn't come up with them, but I did substitute a few words to my liking.

I realize Rosie's not had a lot of action for a while now. Next chapter will definitely feature more of her, I promise. And for those wondering: yes, there will be a chapter titled Men at some point. Not sure what I'll write for it yet, but I'm sure it will be fun.

Right, I think that covers everything. Thanks again as always to my reviewers; I hope you all enjoyed this newest installment! You're all brill!

~dieselwriter

P.S.: Happy (rather belated) Valentine's Day! Will you be my (again, belated) valentine? :3


	20. Secrets

**A/n: **Surprise! It's been a while, hasn't it? I apologize profusely. Life just keeps rearing its ugly head, and writer's block does nothing to help matters.

This chapter was meant to be informative. It did no such thing. In fact, I believe it raised a new mystery instead of solving an old one.

But fear not! The next chapter is guaranteed to resolve one of the following:

A. The mystery that arises in this chapter.  
B. A bit of the mystery regarding Pettigrew/Scabior's hand.  
C. Your fears of me never updating again.  
D. All of the above.

And with that, on with the chapter!

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 20: The Tale of Secrets**

Ron's eyes narrowed on the parchment, trying to decide why exactly it was so confusing to him. One sentence splayed out in a bright red and pale gold on a fraying page should not require this intense scrutiny.

The expected attack on Valentine's Day hadn't come. Ron had received a conciliatory copy of the threat in his inbox the very next morning—Senior Auror Williams' attempt at an apology for leaving him out of the February fourteenth festivities.

It startled Ron that he was no longer annoyed at having been left behind. In fact, he felt more frustrated that he was wrong. At least if the attack had occurred when they had guessed, they would have been prepared. But now, unless Ron figured out the secret of the threat, there was no telling when an attack would come.

A chill ran down his spine and he turned to the door instinctively, expecting someone to be watching him. He found no one there but did hear the gentle padding of light steps echoing down the hallway. Curious, he piled up his papers and locked them up in his desk before heading toward the open door of his study.

"Rose? What are you doing?"

Ron stopped just short of the door to listen in as Hermione's voice replaced the footsteps. A small gasp was the initial response before his daughter gave a second and equally uninformative reply:

"N-nothing, Mum!"

"Then what's that all over your face?"

The hallway was quiet for a moment and Ron swore he could hear the gears churning in his daughter's head.

"Just some ink, Mum. Working on a project."

"What kind of project?"

"Nothing special," his daughter responded evasively, and he heard the footsteps return. "When's dinner?"

"Not for another hour," Hermione's tone sounded defeated.

"I'll be there," Rosie said awkwardly before a door shut and Ron suspected Hermione was left out in the hallway alone.

He made the rest of the way to the open door and peeked his head out, confirming his guess as Hermione turned to him with a pout.

"She's been acting rather secretive these past few weeks. This is the third time this week alone that I've caught her tiptoeing around the house."

"I haven't seen much of her recently," Ron said, scratching his chin. "You think she's up to something?"

"I haven't any idea what it could be," she replied, looking pensive. "But yes, I definitely think she's working on something. She's been cooped up in her room for the better part of a month."

"Well let's investigate then," Ron said, striding purposefully down the hall to the door leading to his daughter's bedroom.

"Ron," Hermione spoke up, following right behind him, "maybe we should just leave it alone. She's getting to be that age…."

Snorting at that prospect, he reached the closed door and knocked smartly, ignoring Hermione's look of reproach.

"Rosie?"

"Just a second!"

Ron frowned in confusion at hearing the discord on the other side of the door. Sounds of feet scurrying about and thudding heavily on the floor and the distinctive sounds of books snapping closed reached his ears.

"Rose, I'm coming in—"

"Hang on a sec, Dad!"

She sounded absolutely panicked now, and he couldn't help but open the door to see what the fuss was about.

Rosie was sitting on her bed, looking rather flustered as her hair was fluffed up more than usual and an ink stain graced her left cheek.

"What were you doing?"

"Just…just working on some practice Hogwarts' assignments."

"Where did you get practice Hogwarts' assignments?" Ron asked, disconcerted that this excuse actually sounded legitimate, and even more perturbed that any child of his would prepare over a year in advance for school.

"I'm helping Bobby before he goes off to school next year. One of his older sisters lent us some notes."

Ron frowned. It was a well known fact that he and Hermione were not very good liars. It was therefore a wonder where exactly Rose's deceptive talents came from. Ron suspected his sister's handiwork.

"Do you need any help with it?" Hermione asked, stepping forward, a sly look in her eye. Obviously she no longer held reservations about their nosing around.

"N-no, that's okay. I've figured them all out. Bobby and I are meeting up tomorrow to go over them."

"Oh," Hermione said, turning pleading eyes on her husband. Clearly she was stuck and hoped he had a new tactic.

Luckily he did.

"You know," Ron said, sitting on the bed next to his daughter, "it's not good to keep secrets from your parents, Rose."

She looked up at him with her big blue eyes, and for a moment Ron was sure she was going to spill.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Dad."

"I'm just telling you now for future reference," he said, trying to lock eyes with his daughter. She, however, had her eyes trained at her open bedroom door, as if hoping it would suck her parents out into the hall. "I remember one time, in fact, that I kept a secret from your Uncle Harry. It was one of the only things I ever kept from him, and it could have killed him."

Rosie, who had removed her eyes from the door in order to roll them in anticipation for his story, blinked in surprise at the last line.

"_Killed _him?"

"Well…" Ron contained his smile and glanced at Hermione, who seemed equally intrigued at his near-fatal secret, "I doubt Dumbledore would have let it happen, but these _were_ dragons, and I think they would have eaten Harry up whether or not they had the Headmaster for an audience…."

* * *

His best friend was going to die in two days. As much as he hated to admit it, he was concerned by this.

Ron rolled over in bed, his agitation and anxiety causing him to be unable to fall sleep.

Harry's bed was empty. Ron found himself even more annoyed with the fact that he cared about where he was and, more importantly, what he was doing without him. Ron hoped sincerely he was preparing for the First Task.

It had been over three weeks since Harry's name had been pulled from the Goblet of Fire, and it had been over three weeks since Ron had taken to ignoring him as much as possible. And it was therefore very close to three weeks that he had found himself feeling incredibly lonely.

Hanging out with Fred and George and Lee was only as fun as long as it took the twins to start picking on him. Hermione wasn't fun, period. Dean and Seamus were nice enough but they weren't the same as hanging out with Harry. Joining Neville to figure out Trevor's favorite food forced Ron to consider contacting others outside of Hogwarts.

An owl from his mum had not been effective; her writing was scrawled quickly and was full of concern over Harry. His father's letter had been short and boring. Bill's was likewise short, although his was far more intriguing since it touched briefly on his encounter with a new curse nearly decapitating him.

But Charlie's letter had been the shortest of all:

_Ron- Sorry, I don't have any time to write. I'll be seeing you soon though!_

It had also been the worst.

The only time Charlie was ever too busy to write was when dragons were involved. And the only reason Charlie would be seeing him would be if he were coming to visit Hogwarts. And the First Task was soon.

Which meant Harry's first task was dragons. He'd have to fight a dragon.

Ron's stomach squirmed uncomfortably as he tossed to his other side in bed. It didn't matter what position he chose, though; he couldn't have felt further from sleep.

He had known for the better part of a week and yet he hadn't told Harry. He had hardly seen him, in fact. But that suited Ron fine; out of sight, out of mind.

Ron sat up in bed, rubbing his weary eyes. He peeked through the curtains to find Harry's bed still empty. This was ridiculous; it was one in the morning…where was he?

The covers were torn off of him and his legs were on the side of the bed before he realized what he was doing.

"Don't be stupid," he muttered to himself, placing his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "Who cares what he's doing?"

But Ron knew the answer to that one.

He did.

"This is stupid," Ron repeated even as he put on his slippers. "Maybe getting his arms torn off by a dragon will bring him to his senses."

The mental image of Harry running away from a dragon with stumps for arms did not alleviate the knot in his stomach. The image was quickly replaced with a two-armed Harry hunched over a stack of textbooks in the common room, feverishly turning pages in search for an answer to an unknown task.

Maybe he _had_ lied, but there was no way Harry could have expected this. Even if they were in a fight, there was no way Ron could let this happen.

He ambled as quietly as he could in the dark to the door and descended the stairs, feeling inexplicably nervous.

"But you can do it alone."

Ron jumped at the deep, slightly familiar voice. That certainly didn't sound like a Hogwarts student….

"There is a way, and a simple spell's all you need. Just—"

It suddenly went quiet but Ron continued climbing down the stairs, intrigued.

"Go! _Go_! There's someone coming!"

That was Harry. Ron made it to the bottom of the spiral staircase, finding his old friend standing in front of the fireplace. But where had that other voice come from? Ron glanced around the room but, not finding anyone there, asked:

"Who were you talking to?"

Harry's face changed from one of shock to one of anger.

"What's that got to do with you? What are you doing down here at this time of night?"

"I just wondered where you…"

The look on Harry's face—the one that clearly shouted that Ron was worth nothing more to him than the dirt on the bottom of his shoe—made the knot in his stomach melt away with hatred for the bespectacled jerk.

"Nothing. I'm going back to bed."

"Just thought you'd come nosing around, did you?" he shouted back.

Righteous anger bubbled in his gut and he could feel his face getting hot.

"Sorry about that," he spat back, unable to help himself. "Should've realized you didn't want to be disturbed. I'll let you get on with practicing for your next interview in peace."

_It'll be the last one you give_.

Ron didn't even have time to react as Harry grabbed one of the Creevey brothers' badges and threw it at his forehead. It hardly hurt, but he couldn't help but stare at Harry, a mixture of hatred and surprise coursing through his veins.

"There you go. Something for you to wear on Tuesday. You might even have a scar now, if you're lucky….That's what you want, isn't it?"

Ron watched him as he passed and climbed the stairs behind him. The second Ron heard the door to their shared dorm room close he picked up the badge and threw it across the room. He then proceeded to take the box full of badges from the table and chucked it as well.

"Ron?"

Ron turned furious eyes to the bottom of the staircase and felt his face heat up again, this time in embarrassment. A pink robed Hermione stared back at him through the darkness, Crookshanks held securely in her arms.

"I thought I heard Harry…what are you doing up at this hour?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Ron said, a little too meanly, as he made his way across the room and flumped down unceremoniously in a chair.

"Couldn't sleep," Hermione shrugged, finding a chair next to his and sitting down with Crookshanks in her lap. "What did you do to your forehead?"

Ron rubbed the sore spot and shrugged.

"Did you get into a fight with Harry?"

"We're _already _in a fight, Hermione."

"Ron, you need to talk to him," she said, stroking the large tabby in her arms. "You know he didn't sign up for this—"

"I know he didn't."

Ron felt just as surprised as Hermione looked at this sudden revelation.

"Then why—"

"Even _if _he didn't put his name in, why doesn't he just quit?"

Hermione gave a sigh, as if attempting to deal with a rather petulant child.

"There's a binding magical contract—"

"Like Dumbledore would give a damn about that, if Harry said he didn't want to compete."

"Then who do you think put his name in? Some upperclassman pulling a prank?"

Her sarcasm was not lost on Ron.

"Because we don't know some upperclassmen who would find this uproariously funny."

His sarcasm was not lost on her either.

"No upperclassmen is _smart _enough, Ron. Not even your brothers. Moody thinks it must have been a Dark wizard using a Confundus Charm—"

"Moody thinks Dark wizards cast Cheering Charms on house elves to cover up their impending rebellion against humanity."

Hermione's dark look made him switch tactics rather abruptly.

"No matter who put his name in…Harry wants to play along with it. He likes the attention. He wants this."

_That's what you want, isn't it?_

The vision of the armless Harry running away from a dragon came back to his mind, and he ground his teeth in irritation at the whole thing.

"Well I say let him have it."

A silence followed this statement, and Ron threw a careless glance over at Hermione. Her honest brown eyes were watching his and her hand was suspended over her cat in mid-stroke. Crookshanks seemed peeved that she had stopped as he reached up for the frozen hand with a lazy swat of his paw. Realizing this mistake, she broke eye contact and continued her methodical petting.

"When has Harry ever wanted _any_ of this?"

She didn't look back up at him, keeping her eyes averted as if the question caused her embarrassment, but her earnestness left Ron taken aback. He felt himself swallow impulsively, as if trying to get a bad taste out of his mouth.

_Tell her._

"He's going to get himself killed."

_About the dragons, you git_.

"Ron, I know you're worried for him—"

"_Worried for him_? I'm not _worried for him_…"

Hermione's expression told him she saw right through this lie, but mercifully decided not to comment.

"I'm going…" he was about to say '_to bed_,' but the idea of being in the same room with Harry made him change this mind rather quickly, "…for a walk."

"Well, I'm going to back to bed," Hermione said, standing up. Crookshanks yowled grumpily at the sudden movement. "But Ron, I really wish you would talk to Harry about this—"

"He doesn't want to talk to me," Ron muttered, his forehead twinging rather unnecessarily at the reminder of their last 'talk.'

"But you want to talk to him."

It wasn't a question, and Ron turned to find her giving a hopeful grin.

"No, I don't. Not anymore."

And this time it was the truth.

_Talk to HER then!_

But both her eyes and grin had fallen, and he found that he couldn't bring himself to give her any more bad news. Or at least that's what he told himself.

"So you two are just never going to talk to each other again? That's the end of your friendship?"

_When he's walking around with no arms, that'll probably be the end of it, technically_.

Ron quickly turned his smile into a grimace as Hermione gave him a puzzled look.

"Listen," Ron said, growing a bit impatient with her nagging to speak to him and his head's nagging to spill to her, "I tried talking to him, okay? He doesn't…"

_Want me as a friend._

"…Want to talk to me. He's moved on to bigger and better things with this tournament. So just…leave it alone."

Against Hermione's wishes and his better judgment, he turned around abruptly and walked out of the Common Room, not before giving the box full of badges he had previously thrown a solid kick.

* * *

"You knew about the dragons?"

"You'd let Uncle Harry go up against dragons blind just because of a fight?"

Two pairs of eyes were staring at him in surprise. Ron felt his ears flush at the unwanted attention.

"Yes I knew, and that's exactly the point, Rose. You shouldn't keep important secrets. It's just a good thing Hagrid's a big blabbermouth and told Harry about the dragons."

"And you didn't tell _me_?" Hermione replied incredulously, looking extremely put out.

Ron raised an eyebrow at her in a silent attempt to remind her that they were here to get information out of their daughter rather than him.

"Right, well," Hermione turned to Rose, still a bit flustered, "the moral of the story is that if something's bothering you, you should certainly tell us. That way mythical creatures won't attempt to eat your best friend."

She threw a withered look at Ron who deflected it with a small grin.

"I agree," Rosie said, bouncing off the bed. "So if I ever have a secret involving dragons attempting to eat anybody I'll let you know."

She went over to the door and held it open, an invitation for them to leave. Ron glanced at Hermione but she didn't seem to have any ideas either. With nothing left in their parenting arsenal they left the room together, but right before the door closed on them Ron took a glance over his shoulder. A small, familiar, bright green booklet poking out from under her pillow caught his attention right before he was face-to-face with her bedroom door.

He turned to his wife and the sneaky grin spreading across his face made her shake her head quickly.

"No."

Her flat out response couldn't prevent the excitement of his discovery flood through him.

"Whatever it is I don't want to hear it!"

"But Hermione," he said, following her as she stomped down the hall, "I saw something!"

"That is a total invasion of her privacy! I don't want to know what it is!"

But Ron's hunch was already making him run down the hall to his study, bypassing Hermione. Upon entering he dove to the floor, reaching his long arms under the couch where the discarded and unimportant literature usually ended up.

"No, Ron!" she shouted, grabbing onto his legs to pull him away from the chair. "If it's something she needed to share, she would have! This—isn't—_right_!"

"Aha!"

Ron's fingers grabbed onto a thin pamphlet as Hermione successfully dragged him away. He brought it up to the light and frowned at the little green booklet that held a striking resemblance to the one he saw under Rose's pillow.

"What's she doing with a copy of my Healing pamphlet?" Ron asked, holding the booklet Healer Casey gave him before leaving St. Mungo's up for his wife's inspection.

"I'm not interested," she said, folding her arms in defiance. "I will have no part in this."

"But look at it, Hermione," Ron pleaded, shoving it directly in front of her face. "Why would she have this—"

"I told you I'm not getting involved in this. It has nothing to do with either of us."

Before Ron could convince her otherwise she left him alone in his study. Sighing in defeat, Ron rose from the floor and sat back at his desk.

Pulling out the scarlet and golden threat, he spread it and the little green booklet in front of him.

Perfect. In just one afternoon he had doubled the number of impossible mysteries he had to solve.

* * *

**A/n**: Well, guys, as of this Sunday I can no longer use college as an excuse for not updating. That's right; dieselwriter is graduating from college. Huzzah.

What this means for you readers: hopefully more updates. I have lots o' summer plans, but they don't start until mid-June so that means with any luck I'll be able to get up more chapters. I'm hoping for my next update to come within the next week or two.

Be on the lookout for a new mini-fic to celebrate the release of the sixth movie. It will be coming soon to an Internetz near you!

Right, well, I again apologize immensely for the long wait, but I hope you haven't given up on me! I'll really need the support in the next few weeks as I look for a job and do other awful adult stuff. But enough of the pity train: thanks a million to all of my reviewers! I've missed you all!

~dieselwriter

P.S.: I missed this story's 1st birthday. I am truly pathetic. Happy belated birthday, _Tales_! I've enjoyed writing you!

P.P.S.: The correct answer to the multiple choice test at the beginning of the chapter was D. Birthday cake to all of you who got it right!


	21. Faith, Part 1

**A/n**: Don't you just hate it when things don't work out the way you planned them? My massive apologies for the lateness of this chapter, but as usual I got overexcited and wrote way too much. As a result, the chapter I wanted to write now has to become two chapters. Hopefully there won't be too much complaining about that.

On with the story! On with the story!

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 21: The (First) Tale of Faith**

"Ten minutes!"

A flurry of fluffy hair and red robes flew by him, retreating up the stairs.

"I'll be ready in five!"

Ron stuffed an arm into one sleeve of his own robes as he ran back to his bedroom to retrieve his dress shoes. He swore when he found only one black shoe inside his closet.

"Anyone know where—!"

The doorbell interrupted his shout and he cursed again under his breath while putting on the one shoe he did have in his possession.

"Door!" Hermione shouted unhelpfully from the top of the staircase.

"I've got it!" Ron bellowed back. "You see a missing shoe up—AH!"

"DAD!"

It took all of the dexterity Ron had acquired over years of Auror training to not fall flat on his face on the hardwood floor. The Gobstones he got tripped up over scattered every which way and Hugo crawled quickly across the floor to try to collect them.

"Hugo, what have I told you about playing in the—"

The doorbell chimed again, interrupting his diatribe.

"Why didn't you answer the door?" he asked Hugo, successfully adapting his frustration to a new topic.

Hugo stared up at him from the floor with wide, innocent eyes before knitting his eyebrows.

"You offered before I could."

Ron rolled his eyes, knowing full well it would have taken four rings of the doorbell before either of his children would volunteer to answer the door.

"Please move the game into the living room," Ron said as he made his way to the front door, treading carefully to avoid stepping on any stray Gobstones.

He finally made it to the door and opened it, revealing his neighbor and babysitter for the evening, Mrs. Puckle.

"Good evening, Mr. Weasley," her wrinkled face appraised him mildly as she stood on the front porch. He became self-conscious as she eyed his missing shoe critically, but her eyes crinkled warmly in understanding as she crossed the threshold into the house. "Almost ready, are we?"

"Getting there," Ron returned with a weak smile, buttoning his robes up as he led her down the hall. "Hugo's right in the living room, Mrs. Puckle, if you'd like to make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Weasley," she nodded before walking into the room to find Hugo.

"Rose!" Ron called up the stairs, knowing from the past few weeks' experience that his daughter was no doubt scheming something away in her bedroom. "Mrs. Puckle is here!"

Silence followed that remark, and Ron sighed before trudging up the stairs.

"Eight minutes, Hermione," he said as he passed his wife on the stairs, her fingers fumbling over the clasp of a bracelet decorating her wrist.

"I just need my wand and I'll be ready," she replied, succeeding in getting the jewelry secured around her wrist.

"Great, I'll bring Rosie down and then we'll head out," he sighed as he threw his hands up in the air in mock celebration, climbing up the rest of the stairs.

"Might need another shoe before leaving."

Ron wrinkled his nose as he glanced down at his shoeless foot, eyeing it with disdain, before glancing down at his wife from the top of the stairs with pleading blue eyes."Mind Accioing it for me?"

She sighed exasperatedly but nodded her head and grinned in amusement before turning to walk down the rest of the stairs. Ron straightened the cuff of the dress shirt he wore under his robes as he made his way down the hall to his daughter's room.

"Rose? C'mon, Mrs. Puckle is here and…" he said, ignoring both an introduction and an apology as he barged into the room, too much in a hurry to care too badly. He felt that attitude change abruptly, though, as the rest of his sentence died in his throat when he got a good glimpse at his daughter.

Rose sat in the middle of her bedroom floor, dozens of thick textbooks and highlighted parchment scattered about her, the carpet barely visible with the sheer volume of papers. The small cauldron Hermione had lost last week was sitting in front of her, filled with what looked to be water.

But his attention was focused mostly on the fact that every visible inch of skin on her body was bedecked in varying colors of paint.

Weasley anger was quite common to those in acquaintance with any member of the family. Symptoms included a reddening of cheeks, necks, or ears, a clenching or shaking of fists, and a loud and steady stream of curses.

Not even the offspring of a Weasley was allowed paternal censorship from a Weasley harangue, if such an occasion called for it.

"Bloody hell, Rose!" Ron shouted, his face hot as his fists clenched at the sight of his multicolored ten-year-old daughter. "What are you doing?!"

"Dad, what are you doing in here?!" she all but shrieked, trying to hide the cauldron in vain.

It was hard to take her seriously, however, with her face light blue and her anger so pale in comparison to her father's.

"What is all this?" he demanded, snatching a paper from the floor. "Your mum and I need to leave and now we have to clean up after your…"

Ron's tirade ended in an instant as his eyes scanned over the paper full of intricate-looking runes in his fist.

"Rose…what is all this?" he repeated with quite a different intonation as he turned the paper around so Rose could see it.

"I'm just…it's just…it's a project I've been working on…."

Her voice was thick with emotion and her eyes were welling up with tears. Ron eyed everything around him again with a critical eye, but even without the haze of red anger he felt clueless as to what it was all about.

"You want to be a Healer someday?" he guessed, joining her on the floor and reaching for a particularly thick tome opened to a page on Healing salves.

"Not really, no," Rose muttered, wrapping her brightly colored arms around her equally vibrant legs.

"An artist, then?"

Rose's half-hearted glare told Ron he was getting nowhere rather quickly.

"Well that's good, then, because you missed a spot," he joked, pointing to a clean spot on her knee.

"That's the only spot I got right," she sighed, poking at the spot miserably. "The rest of this," she gesticulated at the other, more vivid parts of her body, "I messed up."

"But what are you trying to do?"

Her ears, which before had been neon yellow, turned an interesting orange shade as her eyes darted to the stolen cauldron sitting beside her.

"I just wanted to help you, Dad."

The tears that had threatened to show themselves did so, making the sky blue shade of her face look instead like the melancholy yet dangerous grey-blue before a storm.

"Help me with what?" Ron asked, curiosity getting the better of him as he stuck a finger into the clear contents of the cauldron.

The cold, jelly-like feel of the substance made him retract his hand abruptly, and he gasped in shock at the results.

"Y-you…Rose," he whispered breathlessly, unable to find any adequate words.

His finger came out a rosy peach colour, standing out in stark contrast to his other pale fingers. Her intention was obvious now: she had been trying to fix the skin pigmentation problem on his hands his run-in with Scabior had caused. While his difficulties with residual pain had all but faded, the scarred, pale hands the blast had caused were unable to be treated.

Or so he had thought.

"People always stare, Dad. I know you don't notice, but I do. Like there's something wrong with them. But there's not—" her voice cracked and she paused a moment before continuing. "Nothing's wrong with you. I wanted everyone to see that.

"But it doesn't work," she grumbled, shoving the cauldron away from her mournfully. "It's impossible to get the right shade. And a simple Scourgify makes the effect worthless. Not to mention the fact that measuring out powdered lacewings is so ridiculously fussy that even someone with a real Potions set couldn't figure it out."

She said this in the space of a few seconds, and was left huffing and puffing with exertion afterward. The obvious effort she poured into this project left Ron speechless; his vision roved over the makeshift Potions kit she had collected for herself: a cutting board and knife borrowed from the kitchen, mugs holding various (undoubtedly pilfered from her mother's stock) Potions ingredients, and her own Beater's bat as a temporary pestle for her lacewings.

"This colour's the closest I've gotten to your regular skin tone," she continued after catching her breath, the tears still leaking from her eyes as she pointed at the spot on her knee that to Ron looked unblemished. "But it's too orange; it'd make your hands look wonky."

It took him only a moment for that information to digest before he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt and robes.

"Dad, what're you…DAD!"

Rose's eyes went wide and dry as Ron plunged both his hands into the cauldron, unheeding of her warning.

"No, Dad, stop!" she shouted, tugging uselessly at his arms. "What are you doing?!"

Even more tears than before coursed down her cheeks as Ron, rather matter-of-factly, pulled his hands back out of the gelatinous goop and rolled his sleeves back down. She continued to cry as he reached out to hug her.

"I'm messing—up—your dress robes," she choked out from beneath him, but he ignored her as he held her closer, rubbing her back consolingly. She continued despite his lack of response, "Why did y-you— do that?"

Fatherly instincts kicked into overdrive at the desperation in her voice; he placed his chin atop her fluffy head before answering.

"Rose, how long have you been working on this?"

"I don't know," she murmured, burrowing her face further into his chest, "a few months now. Since you got back from St. Mungo's maybe."

Months. Ron's heart felt fit to burst as he kissed the top of her head tenderly, her crazed curls tickling his long freckled nose.

"Your hands are messed up even more now. Why did you do that?"

"I dunno, Rosie," he said, returning to rest his chin on the top of her head. "Because I had faith in the work you did."

"But I messed up," she replied mournfully.

"You didn't," Ron disagreed, "you did more than anything my Healers could. You did more for me than anyone else would have."

"That's not…that isn't…." his daughter sounded startled yet faraway, lost in a thought and unsure of how to respond to such praise.

Ron too was recalling a thought his words had caused and took his time responding to her lack of response.

"It's just like that one time… you know about Harry's godfather—Sirius Black?"

Rosie, emerging from her deliberation abruptly, nodded swiftly.

"Well, the second time I met him, your Uncle Harry and mum did something for me that made me sure we would be lifelong friends."

* * *

The Grim had been properly named.

As the beast's jaws locked onto Ron's outstretched arm, throwing him down to the ground and dragging him away, Ron's dazed brain couldn't think of a grimmer situation.

Some distant corner of his mind couldn't help but appreciate an odd coincidence as the Grim pulled him further away from his friends. His Uncle Bilius had died right after viewing the harbinger of death, and now it seemed Ron was going to be literally dragged into hell by it right after his middle namesake.

A logical voice echoed in his head, sounding a bit like a mixture of Hermione and McGonagall, lectured him that this humongous black dog _couldn't _be the Grim. Being a spectral creature, this monster shouldn't be visible to Harry or Hermione, let alone be able to draw the blood currently dripping from his hand.

It wasn't an omen of death…it was death itself.

The Grim Reaper.

Hermione's shriek alerted his fuzzy mind again of his surroundings. The Grim—_no, not the Grim…the Reaper_—was yanking on his mangled arm, pulling him into what looked to be the trunk of the Whomping Willow.

For a moment Ron was incredibly happy to see the tree; there was a very real possibility it could help fight off the furry black menace attempting to abduct him. But no—the only time a person happily (if not accidentally) ran into striking distance of the lethally vicious tree and it instead decided to strike his mates, who were in a far less ideal spot to cause it harm, standing just out of reach of the menacingly swinging branches.

"Ron!" he heard Harry shout, but a branch swung at him as he tried to follow.

A hopeless panicky feeling settled in the pit of Ron's stomach. He glanced over at Hermione, who was staring at him with bright eyes. Her despaired expression mirrored his own.

"_No_!" Ron grunted through his clenched teeth as he swung his available limbs out wildly, imitating the tree fending off his friends.

The dog didn't seem phased at all. It had found a passage between the roots of the massive tree and seemed determined to reach it. Ron fought even more furiously, but any attempt at hitting the dog proved futile—his legs couldn't connect at all and it didn't even so much as yelp when he punched it.

His still-flailing leg connected with a root, and he desperately wrapped his foot around it in an attempt to stay in one place visible to Harry and Hermione. At first this improvised plan seemed to work a bit better than his original plan of trying to stop the dog; it yanked him once but Ron remained in his spot, resilient.

It was as the dog yanked a second time, much harder, and as Ron held onto the root tighter that he knew something didn't feel right. The root remained intact but Ron's foot started slipping, twisting unnaturally against the wood. But the only way to keep Harry and Hermione in sight was to hold on—

_CRACK_!

His mind blanked, completely numb. He was only vaguely aware of the final vicious tug that resulted in his foot's coming free of its own accord, of the fact that the dog was now dragging him down its desired earthen path.

He waited for the pain, waited to see how serious it was. It _was_ just the root breaking, right? That crack…it couldn't've been his_ leg_….

Experimentally, Ron tried moving his numb foot.

_Ah_, he thought, reluctant tears springing to his eyes, _there's the pain_.

It _had _been his leg after all.

He should have been worrying about retrieving his wand, about attempting to save himself, about where he was, about what was going to happen to him now, about Reapers and family and friends and life…_his _life…it should have been flashing before his eyes on this road to hell.

But the pain was all consuming.

The jarring, bumpy, rocky path made sure he never fully crossed that line into blissful unconsciousness, but he felt completely paralyzed, unable to move so much as a finger to help himself. His vision was hazy, clouded, and he was certain that any speech attempt would be slurred. His brain was foggy and any perception of time vanished; it felt as if all parts of himself had turned to lead except his broken leg, which screamed every protest and profanity in existence as it was jostled and dragged uselessly behind him….Much like how the troll back in first year schlepped his club around, looking for unsuspecting Gryffindors in the girls' loo….

_First year_…he and Harry had hardly given a thought before going in to save Hermione. His only wish was that this time around, when he was playing the mate in distress, Harry and Hermione would think of other options before sticking their wands up the Grim's nostrils.

No…that was wrong…he didn't want Harry and Hermione thinking of any option at all. He wanted them as far away from the Reaper as possible.

A turn in the tunnel made him roll onto his broken leg, and the pain he didn't think could get any worse proved him wrong. Agony swept through him, his breathing becoming nothing but harsh gasps, and the fingers of his free hand scrabbled to help out the shattered leg trapped under his weight.

The path evened out as they entered a room Ron wasn't able to pay attention to; he was solely concentrated on fixing his current problem. With the help of the smooth, flat floor he was finally able to successfully pull his leg out.

With the pain lessened considerably, he was able to discern the dusty room they had entered that looked as if it would collapse on them at any moment. The only positive side effect of that agonizing experience was that it had sobered him up immensely. As the giant dog pulled him from the crumbling room (Ron internally sighed in relief) and into the hallway, he inched his fingers towards his cloak surreptitiously, where he knew his wand to be. Now that his mind was cleared it didn't seem such a daunting task to try and free himself; the biggest problem was trying to do so without the Reaper noticing.

At least, it _hadn't _been a daunting task. That was before he eyed the obstacle the Reaper had planned to surmount next.

"No, no, no, _no_…c'mon, there's no way…" he moaned, paling even more as he eyed the dilapidated staircase they were rapidly approaching. His leg throbbed at just the thought of trying to climb them. The rickety railing didn't look like it could support a pixie, let alone him and his broken leg.

Of course, he was making the assumption that he would be the one to climb the stairs. The Reaper didn't seem too keen to release Ron as it reached the bottom of the staircase.

When the dog ascended the first step, Ron knew he had to make his move now. It was obvious they were close to reaching whatever destination the Reaper was planning to kill him; there was still this last chance to try an escape.

It was difficult, trying to reach for his wand without drawing the dog's attention. It never occurred to him to _not_ be secretive about this plan; if the monstrous dog caught wind of any change in its prey, Ron didn't doubt it would kill him immediately on the unstable staircase—assuming it didn't collapse underfoot and kill them first.

Choking down a scream of pain as he was forced on the staircase by the beast, his fingertips reached down into the pocket of his robes where he knew his wand to be. It was awkward; every step they ascended sent a jolt of shocking, mind-numbing pain from his leg, and it didn't help that the wand was in his right pocket when he was reaching for it with his left hand—hard to be inconspicuous about getting it when reaching across his body for it.

_Slow but steady_, he told himself, unable to help a low groan as again his broken leg took on another stair. _Just focus on the wand_…

He felt panicky, even as his fingers grazed the tip of his wand, when they reached the top of the staircase.

This was it.

He pulled it out of his pocket; his heart beat faster, his breathing was shallow and shaky, and sweat rolled down the back of his neck in nervous anticipation.

He was so focused on the wand, but he should have been paying attention to the Reaper.

The disgusting, hot doggy breath he caught whiff of every so often from his right vanished, and so did the pain from his right arm. As he whipped his wand around, ready for a fight even with his back on the floor, he found that there was nothing to fight; the Reaper had vanished.

"What—"

The next thing he felt was blinding, white-hot pain, so inexplicably unbearable that his wand clattered to the ground and he screamed, scratched, clawed, pushed, kicked with his good leg—did every instinctual thing in his power to get whatever had thrown itself on his broken leg off immediately.

"Well that was close, wasn't it?"

The humid, repugnant breath was back at his ear, smelling just as foul as the dog's breath even though it clearly belonged to a human.

"You almost got me there, for a moment."

Or at least he had _thought _it was human. The voice was low and scratchy; sounding more like what a monster's voice should have sounded like rather than a man. You-Know-Who should have had a voice like this. The short chortle he gave afterward had a harsh edge to it that made it seem as though he were bitter about Ron's escape attempt rather than amused.

The lead weight on his leg finally moved, and Ron felt lightheadedly thankful for the shortest of moments, as long as it took for him to be fearfully cautious of the person who must have saved him from the Reaper.

Ron glanced up, squinting through the dim light and echoing pain of his leg to search for him, his rescuer.

Bile rose up in his throat.

He had been wrong before. The dog hadn't been the Grim Reaper. This corpse, with his long, greasy hair, barred yellow teeth, shiny, scheming eyes, and waxy skin stretched taut against his skull-like face….

_This_ was the Reaper. He was staring at death.

* * *

"So I figure out it was Sirius Black that had dragged me into the Whomping Willow, and you'll never believe what happened next, Rose. This is the best part…Rose?"

He looked down to find his daughter fast asleep in his arms. He smiled wryly; it only made sense, after all of the planning and deciphering and researching and…and potioneering, that she would be completely exhausted.

With the idea in mind that he had told probably the worst and most disturbing bedtime story in history, and with the invitation to tonight's Auror Appreciation Gala swimming to the forefront of his mind, he lifted the sleeping Rosie and tucked her into bed. Her little blue face peaked out from underneath the quilt her grandmother had knitted her for her tenth birthday, and he bent over, placing another gentle kiss on her forehead.

When he made his appearance in the living room, already ten minutes past the time they were supposed to appear at the Gala, he fully expected a thorough berating from his wife. He was therefore surprised to find Hermione, dressed magnificently in rich scarlet dress robes, smiling at him.

"What?" Ron asked anxiously, afraid he was being lured into a false sense of security.

"Nothing," she answered, but it was clear from her excited smile that she definitely had something to say.

"Found your shoe!" Hugo piped up from the corner of the room, where he and Mrs. Puckle were in the midst of a heated chess match. He bent over to retrieve his previously missing dress shoe and held it in the air victoriously.

"Brilliant," Ron smiled, walking over to fetch his shoe. "Where'd you find it?"

"Hallway, but Mum's the one who found it. Are your hands orange?"

"The better to support the Cannons with," he said distractedly, taking the shoe from his son and placing it back on the floor to stuff his foot in.

"So are we going to—wha…?"

He had taken a step and frowned when something inside his shoe burst under his socked foot.

"Urgh!" he exclaimed, pulling off his shoe to see what had caused the incident. His nose wrinkled at the putrid smell.

"Eww, Dad, your feet stink!"

"_My_ feet don't stink," Ron upturned the shoe and two Gobstones fell to the ground. He glared up at Hugo, whose eyes went wide. "_Your _Gobstones do, though."

"So _that's_ where they went to!" his son's grin was wide as he momentarily abandoned the chessboard to pick up the fallen Gobstones. "I'd been wondering where they'd gotten off to!"

"Glad I could be of service," Ron mumbled, pulling off his stained sock and walking over to his wife, who was still sitting on the couch and watching him with a broad grin. "Well? What is it?"

"Something came while you were talking to Rosie."

She was practically jumping up and down in the air in anticipation, and Ron raised an eyebrow over at Hugo and Mrs. Puckle to see if they could decipher this mystery. Hugo shrugged in response and Mrs. Puckle swiped one of Hugo's rooks off the board when his eyes were concentrated elsewhere. Ron couldn't help but laugh.

"Well what is it?"

"Guess!"

If she were wearing a Hogwarts uniform and waving her hand in the air Ron would have mistaken her for her 12-year-old self, anxiously wanting to be called on for an answer. Before Ron could even hazard a guess she burst.

"It came!"

"_What_ came?"

"This!"

She thrust a small, black, leather-bound, ancient-looking book under his nose, and, after glancing up into her eyes to assert himself that this wasn't a joke, he took it and read the cover aloud.

"_Nature of the Charm_?"

"Here, let me," she took the book back immediately, clearly annoyed by his lack of enthusiasm.

She riffled through the pages at lightning-fast speed and shoved it back under his nose as soon as she found what she was looking for.

"_Servus manus_?"

"The Servant's Hand Charm."

Hermione's beam was turning slightly manic, the way it usually did after unveiling the answer to a highly advanced problem. But Ron finally felt like he was catching on as he viewed the illustration on the following page: a silvery hand.

"Scabior's hand…you found it?"

"It took me almost six months, but I finally got my—er…"

"Hands on it," Ron finished, rolling his eyes at the bad pun. He held up the tiny book that would soon answer all of his problems. "I can't believe we finally have it."

"Hey!" Hugo burst suddenly from the corner of the room. "Didn't I have another rook before?"

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Mrs. Puckle said with the straightest of faces.

* * *

**A/n**: Okay, I apologize here and now. I swear on all that is Ron that the next chapter will talk EMPHATICALLY about Scabior's hand. Until then I look forward to any and all speculation. ;)

Thanks as always to my wonderful, fantastic, bloody brilliant reviewers! I hope you are all having a marvelous summer!

Expect the next update…soon. And expect the rest of the flashback, and more info on the hand, and a Harry and Ginny cameo, and (with any luck) a new fic before the sixth movie comes out.

~dieselwriter


	22. Faith, Part 2

**A/n**: I officially hate this chapter. My apologies ahead of time for confusing the crap out of you with this one.

(No, I don't actually hate it. It was such a beast of a chapter to write, though, that it's driven me up the wall.)

(And no, I also don't think it'll confuse the crap out of you. With any luck at least...and skill on my part.)

Lateness can be blamed on the fact that I went on vacation for two and a half weeks. My apologies…again. But I did have a lot of fun...even got stuck at the top of a roller coaster. It also gave me some inspiration for upcoming chapters.

(Not the roller coaster thing, the being on vacation for two weeks with my insane family.)

((That means you, Hannah.))

**Warning**: If you have not been following this fic, PLEASE make sure to read the last chapter before attempting this one. In fact, I would highly recommend reading the Christmas chapters as well. Relatively pertinent to have any idea what the hell I'm writing about.

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 22: The (Second) Tale of Faith**

The full moon had been settled up in the sky for quite some time, casting eerie dark shadows up and down the sleepy street. Every house on Knightstone Drive held its own mystery with the bright moonlight reflecting off pitch black windows.

But one house perhaps held more secrets, made evident from the light pouring out of the windows and spilling out onto the front lawn.

Despite the outlier, silence was still respected; secrets can't be kept when shouted to the world. Even the large barn owl perched on a dying oak tree remained quiet, listening for the expectant whispers of old walls unable to handle the suspense any longer.

Two small pops sounded from the end of the street, and were it not for the complete hush that had fallen over Knightstone Drive, the appearance of two cloaked figures could have gone unnoticed. The barn owl, flapping its wings in interest, scooted along the rotting, gnarled branch to get a better look at the figures stalking down the sidewalk.

"I'm going to kill him," a harsh, distinctly feminine voice whispered from underneath the cloak of the shorter of the two figures.

"Can't we do this tomorrow?" a man's quiet voice asked, sounding partially amused, but mostly exasperated. It _was_ rather late.

"No. I will wake his arse up, drag him from bed, and rightfully strangle him if I have to."

"If we don't go back to the house and let the kid off the hook, he'll probably end up killing himself, you know."

"That's assuming he hasn't already killed himself."

"This has turned into a rather morbid conversation."

The eavesdropping barn owl flapped its wings again, as if in agreement. Both cloaked figures paid it no heed, however, as they continued down the sidewalk.

"Look at that," the female stopped, pointing at the only lit house, "the lights are still on! What are they still doing up at two in the morning?"

"Waiting to ambush us, probably," the taller of the two smirked his response.

This seemed to alleviate his partner's concerns, however, as she marched up the path leading to the house, stepped onto the front porch and tried the door handle.

"Locked. Figures. Some people have no trust these days."

"I wonder why," her companion puffed, having jogged up the walk to the porch, "when they have insane people out to kill them at their door at two in the morning."

"Well it sounds sinister when you put it like _that_," the woman muttered, pulling out her wand. "_Alohomora_!"

The lock clicked, and the shorter figure pulled off the hood of her cloak, revealing a loosened but elegant bun. Still holding her wand, she silently opened the front door. The man, sighing, pulled off his own hood, revealing a shock of wild black hair. He glanced around, making sure none of the neighbors were privy to their break in.

The shadows held no spies, however; the only viewer was the barn owl, which gave an acerbic hoot before taking wing to the inky black skies, off no doubt to find a more fruitful street littered with rodents.

Finding the street thus empty, the man followed after his wife.

"What are you two doing in here?!"

"Nice to see you too, Ginny. You're looking good. New robes?"

"RON!"

"Ginny!"

"Oh calm down, Hermione; he's asleep."

Harry Potter chuckled, locking the door behind him before standing at the doorway of the living room of his best friends' home.

Said best friends were kneeling by the coffee table, parchment scattered about in front of them and on the floor. Ron's hair was a disheveled mess from the amount of times he had run his hand through it, and Hermione's eyes were red-rimmed, no doubt from deciphering Ron's untidy, miniscule scrawling on the pages spread out in front of her. Several mugs sat discarded on the floor, dregs the only thing left swimming around inside. His nephew was snoring softly on the couch, limbs spread out wildly in a strong imitation of his father's sleeping position.

"Where the _hell_ where you two tonight?" Ginny demanded in her best angry mother voice, looming over them like a threatening cumulonimbus.

"_Ginny_!" Hermione retaliated, her own matriarchal tone perhaps more effective with her own son in the room.

"He's _asleep_!"

"Who's asleep?" Hugo sat up from his spot on the couch, bleary eyed.

"Nicely done, you two. Now he's awake."

"Don't look at me," Ron said, offended. "Ginny's the one who broke into _our _house like some kind of maniac."

"Well _I'm _not the one who didn't show up to the Gala! Williams was hounding us all night! Do you have any idea what kind of mood he was in when we left?"

"Not nearly as good of a mood as he _will _be in when I give him this tomorrow," Ron said, holding up a small dog-eared book entitled _Nature of the Charm_.

"Where'd you get that from?" Harry piped up, fully entering the room and joining his now sentient nephew on the couch.

"Hermione ordered it off the black market," Ron said matter-of-factly.

"_Ron_!" his wife gasped, snatching the book back from Harry. "I found a footnote in a book from Hogwarts' Restricted Section about _this _book, and a coworker of mine helped me obtain it from a collector of old Dark books and artifacts…which is perfectly legal, as long as he's not using them!" she interjected rather rapidly at seeing Harry's disconcerted reaction.

"Like I said, black market," Ron yawned, getting to his feet.

Hermione crossed her arms but didn't respond as her husband reached out to pluck his son off the couch.

"Bed time, little man," he said, carrying Hugo out of the room and climbing up the stairs.

"But Da—" the child was cut off by a massive yawn.

"_I'm not ti-i-ired…_" Ron did his best imitation of his son's whiny voice, earning him a rather impressive scowl from his son.

It did the trick, however; Hugo did not complain as he was carried up the stairs and deposited onto his bed.

"Dad, can't I just stay up and play _one_ game with Uncle Harry? _Please_?" Hugo pleaded, attempting a pitiable expression. His bloodshot eyes mostly ruined the effect. "I haven't seen him in _ages_!"

"You just saw him last weekend," Ron corrected, pulling up the covers so that all but Hugo's face was obscured by thick orange quilt. "And you promptly destroyed him in chess then, too."

Hugo smiled rather sheepishly.

"It's fun beating Uncle Harry."

"Goodnight, Hugo."

"No, Dad, wait!" Hugo cried out as his father made to leave. "Just a story then."

Ron's ears instantly perked up at the mention of a story. Hugo spied it and tried to rectify the situation.

"I meant one of Beedle's tales!"

"Beedle's an amateur," the father replied, bouncing back on the bed in his excitement. "_My _tales are vastly superior. Besides, I was already telling Rosie one of my better stories earlier, and she didn't get to hear the ending. Guess who does?"

"Please say it's Mum," Hugo mumbled, but knew his father was far too keyed up to be distracted now.

* * *

"Y-you're…" he swallowed down the bile and tried to sound brave and intimidating, as if he were making an accusation, but his voice was nothing more than a feeble croak. The adrenaline that had been pumping through his system moments ago now felt like sludge, acting as a sedative to make his whole body feel heavy, slow, and stupid.

"An Animagus? Yes," Sirius Black answered a question Ron had not intended on asking, but this simple clarification helped Ron to understand at least where the dog had disappeared to. Black raised a wand—_his wand_, he thought with bitter contempt—and muttered a spell that sent Ron skidding slowly but steadily across the hallway floor and into the room farthest away from the staircase, his only escape.

He had no wand, he was in an unfamiliar place with an escaped convict more than capable of murder, and he was utterly and completely alone. It was at this point that Ron couldn't help but wish to be anywhere else, even in the Forbidden Forest with Aragog and his hungry family.

Black entered the bedroom behind him and kept the door ajar—no doubt to make it easier for Harry and Hermione to find them.

_So this is it_, Ron mused. _This is where we left off after he broke into Gryffindor Tower_. _This is where I die_.

An idiotic keening noise wanted to make its way out of his throat. He tried to swallow it down but the lump in his throat was the size of a Snitch. No matter how hard he tried to master himself, it seemed impossible to try and stop the panic attack that was desperate to take over.

_This is absurd…there is NO way I can cry in front of him. Didn't do it in front of those giant bloody spiders last year, did I? Please, not in front of _him_…_

Black, for what it was worth, utterly ignored him and his fight to get a hold on his pathetic emotions. The convict paced, muttering to himself, and Ron watched him, fighting off the damned tears that wanted to fall, waiting for the finishing blow.

But five minutes passed, and still Black hadn't so much as thrown a glance at him, let alone a Killing Curse. Black seemed well aware of how long he was taking as he finally turned to Ron.

"_Is he coming_?!" he all but shouted in Ron's face, his sunken, haunting gaze beseeching the redhead's blue eyes. He seemed more pleading than angry, as if the answer would determine a punishment for himself rather than for Ron.

_How could I be so stupid_?

This _wasn't_ where he would die. The bait isn't much use dead, after all. No, he wouldn't die now. Not yet.

Not until after Harry came.

"No," Ron whispered, hoping that wherever his best friend was he would hear it too. "He's not."

"How well do you know him?" Black threw at him, but tossed his hands in the air before Ron could answer and continued his pacing.

Ron knew Harry well enough to know that he would do what he could, whatever was in his power to do, to save him. Ron sincerely hoped that excluded chasing after him and the mass murderer responsible for his parents' deaths.

"_Well?!_"

Ron jumped at Black's shriek and winced at the pain it caused his leg; the escaped convict was still walking around in circles, his crazed eyes trained to the floor. His fists, however, were clenched so tightly around the stolen wand that he felt obligated to answer the question whether or not Black listened.

"Well enough to know that he won't come."

The sunken eyes found Ron's again for a moment, and he backed further away from him, groaning as his broken leg throbbed painfully even at the slight movement. But the Animagus turned away from him, pacing once again.

"All wrong…all wrong…I should have been more patient…. _Dammit_!"

_Patient_, Ron snorted in his mind as Black punched a dusty wall in aggravation. But of course, the escaped convict had shown at least a smidgen of reserve by not ruining his plan and killing his bait yet, so maybe Azkaban hadn't squeezed all the patience out of him.

"One moment of panic and I grab the wrong boy. But I did get _him_…" Ron flinched, both at the extreme malevolence in his tone and the absolutely hostile glare he threw in his direction. "Maybe I should just kill him now."

Or maybe all the patience was out the boarded up window after all. He'd have considered joining it if his leg, fear, and lack of wand weren't keeping him stuck to the floor.

"You're plan won't work," Ron muttered faintly, barely able to find his voice after that last pronouncement. "He's not an idiot. He'll go straight to Dumbledore or Lupi—"

"_WAIT_!"

Ron stiffened, eyes wide with fright as Black froze in place, listening to the groans and whispers of the old house. It was evident after a minute that Black had heard nothing yet he continued playing the charade, as if hoping Harry Potter would be delivered into his skeletal white hands if he were quiet enough.

"N-nobody's coming," Ron drawled, attempting nonchalance. Draco Malfoy might have been proud to hear it if the effect wasn't lost on his nervous, clumsy tongue.

"The girl," Black answered, eyes trained on the door in expectation. "There was a girl, too. She'll come."

"She's even less likely to come than Harry is," Ron said, his insouciance genuine this time. "She's too smart for that. She'll _make _Harry get help—"

"_Help_…" Black muttered, sounding far more dangerous than when he had shouted earlier. Ron remained silent; it was part futility (Black didn't seem to hear anything once he started a rant) but mostly fear that stilled his tongue. "Remus certainly might consider giving me a chance…or at least hesitate long enough for me to explain…but if it's Dumbledore…oh Merlin…."

Something cold and hard had slithered into Ron's stomach at his own words. Most likely because the words he had spoken were true; Hermione really _was _too smart to come after him. She wouldn't put Harry in unnecessary danger, especially to chase him down.

Doubt—that was what it was, settled in his gut and forming an equally hard lump in his throat. Doubt in his friends to come when he needed their help most. In the dire circumstances he had faced the past three years, he'd never had to face it alone. And now, when he most certainly needed the most help, the thought that his best friends would abandon him made him feel sick.

The idea of Lupin or Dumbledore walking through the door meant Harry and Hermione really _had_ given up on him, that he really _was_ alone in all this. Sure, Lupin and Dumbledore would be better suited to help him, but Ron wasn't sure he was ready to pay the price their entrance would require.

The small, selfish part in him realized that he had been wrong, earlier, in not wanting Harry and Hermione here. Because if there were to be anyone at his side right now, it was certainly them. That secret selfish Ron hoped that Black _would _be right, that Harry and Hermione _would _show up.

It seemed to him that he had played the part of hostage rather well. Best friend to the main target, immobile and thus unable to put up any form of a fight, even partially _wanting _the target to show up…the only thing he had done right so far it seemed was to not _be_ Harry.

Of course, that was something Ron was far too used to.

"All my hard work gone…. Just because he looks like James doesn't mean he'll act like him. But maybe he will come…_wait_!"

Ron was ready to roll his eyes but something small and orange darted into the room a moment later. The furry figure streaked across the floor and jumped up onto the four-poster bed, looking proud of itself.

Black looked at the creature as if it were Harry Potter himself.

"My old friend! Have you brought any other friends with you?"

Sanity? Oh yeah, that was definitely out the window, right after the patience. Ron wasn't sure if the convict expected more fuzzy, squashed-nosed animals to come through the door or if these friends would be imaginary.

But a noise that had to have come from downstairs made Ron realize exactly who the friends of Crookshanks would be.

They really had come. Ron couldn't think of anyone else who would follow the Grim to save him, apart from his parents. That selfish part of him felt full, happy, disgustingly pleased; the more sensible, loyal part to him just felt disgusted.

"_N_—"

"_Silencio_!"

Ron had been expecting a spell for a while now, but the Silencing Charm certainly wasn't the lethal kind he had been worrying about. Unable to move, it hit him square in the chest, and although he attempted to shout, to yell, to do anything to warn his friends downstairs of the danger they were walking right into, he was unable to make a sound. Black smirked at him, wagging his finger smugly, before moving into the shadows behind the door.

Now there was no way to warn them. He could hear their creaking footsteps on the stairs. They were walking right into the Reaper's hands.

And all because of him. Ron felt sick with himself.

But at the same time the panic that had been residing in his chest ever since being separated from Harry and Hermione calmed the instant he heard their steps, muffled from the dust, come closer and closer towards the cracked door.

Black's eyes lit up in triumph at hearing their approach, looking fully demented as he pointed the wand at its original owner.

_Perfect. And this is where I die after all._

But knowing who was coming for him, he felt the adrenaline picking back up, strengthening him. He felt braver when he had someone to fight for.

As the spell shot out of his wand, he did his best to jump out of the way; for all the good it did he should have just stayed in his spot. The spell hit him in the shoulder and the half-dive, half-roll he had tried only ended up as a new way to torture himself.

He moaned, clutching at his leg. Crookshanks purred delightedly from his spot on the bed, as if there weren't anything more pleasurable in the world to him than seeing Ron get hurt.

Ron didn't doubt it.

The whole room seemed to jump as the door was suddenly kicked open and Harry and Hermione, looking a little worse for wear but certainly more capable than him, practically flew across the room, completely bypassing Sirius Black hiding behind the bedroom door in order to come to his aide.

Ron felt the lump in his throat return as he looked at their concerned faces.

Who else would have done this for him?

"Ron—are you okay?"

"Where's the dog?"

"Not a dog," he moaned, averting his eyes and gritting his teeth to prevent the exclamation of pained, selfish delight from escaping. His surprise at hearing his own voice withered away as quickly as he remembered the final spell Black had sent him—no doubt it had reversed the charm placed on him. He glanced up beseechingly at Harry, feeling a prat at what great bait he really was. "Harry, it's a trap—"

"What—"

He looked over at the place he knew Black to be hiding.

"He's the dog…he's an Animagus…"

The man in the shadows stepped forward, closed the door—their only means of escape—and thus presented himself to Harry and Hermione.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Ron felt his small happiness fade rather abruptly; indeed, he felt a real heel as Harry and Hermione lost their wands. They were now stuck in this hell together.

"I thought you'd come and help your friend," he talked to Harry hoarsely, grinning with unsuppressed glee. Ron couldn't help but roll his eyes at this blatant lie. "Your father would have done the same for me. Brave of you, not to run for a teacher."

Brave…but that wasn't right. It wasn't courage that sent Harry and Hermione after him. It wouldn't have been bravery on his part if Harry had been the one to be taken instead and he and Hermione were coming to his rescue.

It was loyalty, and a friendship that could only have been forged through the three years they'd spent together, fighting off crazy professors, spiders, and mass murderers.

It wasn't a question of would they come, or could they come…it was only a matter of _when _they would come.

It was faith.

"I'm grateful…it will make everything much easier…."

The fury radiated from Harry palpably, and as he took a step forward, that panicked feeling returned, alarmed that his best mate was about to do something stupid. It was with tremendous effort that he reached up to cling to Harry's arm and pulled himself upright.

"No, Harry!" Hermione squeaked fearfully from the other side.

Ron had barely heard it, what with the hammer pounding away at his brain; his leg was positively throbbing and he was certain that if he didn't sit down soon he would pass out. But there was one thing he had to do before that, now that he and Hermione had Harry in their grasp, one final message that he was fully intent on getting across to Sirius Black.

"If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!"

They were never letting go.

* * *

"The rest, well, is rather complicated. But I think you get the point, don't you?"

He was met with a snore. Ron supposed he shouldn't have expected much more, given the late hour.

"Moral of the story…" Ron whispered, placing a gentle kiss on his son's forehead before exiting the bedroom, "never tell a story at two in the morning."

He took a moment to poke his head into his daughter's room, finding it in the same disarray he had left it earlier. Rosie had somehow positioned herself so that instead of having her head resting on her pillow she was snuggling it in her arms. But she seemed peaceful enough, so Ron left her to her dreams, clambering down the stairs two at a time.

The resentful tone of his sister's voice reached his ears as he was walking down the hallway.

"I still don't see why all this couldn't wait until _tomorrow_."

"We've been working on this for _six months_," his wife retaliated, exasperated. Clearly this wasn't the first time Ginny had complained about their skiving off the Auror Appreciation Gala since he had left. "And if it's so late why haven't you gone home to relieve Teddy? I'm sure he's nearly ready to call in reinforcements."

"That's what I keep saying," Harry mumbled tiredly. "I'm only convinced that the reason we haven't received a distress call yet is because James stole Teddy's wand."

"Wouldn't be the first time that's happened," Ginny smiled. "But Teddy enjoys the experience...I think. And just graduated from Hogwarts? He needs the Galleons; he'll be begging for more babysitting jobs by the end of the month, just you wait."

"Right when the rent's due," Ron added, walking in to find Harry grinning tiredly.

"Oh good," Harry said. "Now we can get down to business."

"You haven't told them anything?" Ron asked Hermione.

"I've been attempting to clean up," Hermione explained before throwing Ginny a cross look. "Ginny's been filling me in on all the fun things we missed at the Gala."

"Let me guess," Ron said, plopping down on the sofa next to Harry, "Williams bugged you every ten minutes about our whereabouts, O'Leary got shitfaced and was kicked out before attempting to streak, and Ginny retired to her seat after a half hour mingling and standing in those medieval torture devices."

His sister glared at him, even though she had proven his point already by removing her tall high heels to massage her blisters.

"Wrong," she replied, stretching her feet out to rest on the recently de-cluttered coffee table. "O'Leary got kicked out _after_ attempting to streak."

"Oh, I can see why you'd be upset that I missed that."

"Yes, all right," Harry interposed, sitting forward to command Hermione's attention, who was still busy organizing parchment, "enough reminiscing of the Gala. I want to hear about this breakthrough."

Hermione took her time, brushing a stray curl behind her ear before finding a seat between Ron and Harry, a stack of paper still grasped in her hands.

"Well, we don't know everything yet—" she began, but Harry rolled his eyes and interrupted.

"But you do know something."

"Of course, Harry. We wouldn't miss the Appreciation Gala for nothing. It's called _Servus manus_—the Servant's Hand Charm. It's an old charm, dating back to the Middle Ages. Wizarding lords used it on their serfs to ensure quality work, but as serfdom declined so did the spell's use. It's been passed down in the Dark Arts, but wasn't really used, since a silver hand is rather conspicuous. Can't really go walking around in the Muggle world with a silver hand, can you?"

Ron yawned, this story old to him now. Harry rubbed at his eyes, no doubt trying to stay awake despite the rather dull origins of the charm. Ginny seemed to be the only one remotely intrigued from the story apart from Hermione.

"Since it was hardly used it began disappearing in books," Hermione continued, unaware of the fact that only one third of her audience was truly engrossed in her explanation. "That's why it's been so hard to trace in the first place. But of course Voldemort stumbled across it and made note, knowing it might come in handy when his followers grew in number—"

"Hermione, I'm not trying to be rude," Harry couldn't seem to help himself as he interrupted her again, "but can we get to the information that is actually pertinent to our problem at hand? It's two in the morning. I'm tired. And Teddy's probably ready to throw himself off a cliff."

Hermione's cheeks flushed, but Ron put a supportive hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Why don't we skip ahead to the good stuff, eh?"

"Well," Hermione faltered, thumbing through the papers in her lap. "The charm's effects are permanent as soon as it takes effect. And while Voldemort used the spell as a prosthetic in Pettigrew's case, it's not generally used that way. Most times it was worn as something akin to a glove, fitting on top of the hand, just making it far more powerful than previous.

"Its effects are relatively straightforward, as you've seen. It does whatever its owner wants it to do, just at a substantially higher level of strength and precision."

"But Pettigrew—" Harry started, but Hermione held up her hand and continued.

"The spell does whatever the owner wants it to," she reiterated, making Harry frown in annoyance, "_but _if that want goes into direct conflict with the original spellcaster's wants, it rebels."

Harry leaned forward, now interested by Hermione's words.

"So since Pettigrew released me…"

"It directly conflicted with what Voldemort would have wanted," Ron filled in, having had this conversation once already and feeling quite smug at knowing the answers, "so the hand turned on Pettigrew."

Ginny fidgeted at this unpleasant news, having heard of Peter Pettigrew's fate many times before.

"The charm only has two primary motivations to act," Hermione went on with her explanation. "One is to do the bidding of the original spell caster. Only a relatively powerful Dark wizard could cast such a spell, so his intentions, rather than the servant's, are those it tries to honor. The second motivation is to preserve itself. A servant is of no use dead; thus it will act in the servant's best interests, as long as they do not directly conflict with the master's orders. Get it?"

Harry glanced across at Ron before shaking his head. Hermione sighed before trying a different tactic.

"Let me use an example then. Pettigrew used the hand to fight for Voldemort, and the hand obeyed its command, since it was exactly what Voldemort wanted—a loyal servant. When Pettigrew betrayed Voldemort the hand retaliated and got itself a new owner. Scabior had his hand since before the war ended. He used it as a way to evade the Aurors, right? The hand acted to help Scabior out, in order to survive."

"I'm sorry," Ginny piped up, shaking her head, "but my head's swimming. It's two thirty in the morning. Can we get this in layman's terms?"

"Basically," Ron replied, popping his knuckles in the process and making Hermione cringe at the noise, "the hand will do whatever Scabior wants it to, unless he starts rescuing puppies and giving presents to kids in orphanages."

"But then how did the hand jump host exactly? I thought you said it was impossible, Hermione."

Hermione couldn't help but blush again at Ginny's question.

"Well, I thought it was. But this charm…it's evil. It can't end its own life, if that makes any sense. The only way to destroy it is if the original spell caster dispels it—"

"Fat chance," Harry snorted at that unlikely possibility, given the original caster was 17 years dead.

"—_Or _if the owner of the hand dies--of natural causes or otherwise--while serving its master's wishes. If the hand senses disloyalty in its owner, it will end his life and transfer onto the next follower it makes contact with."

"What a lovely thought," Harry muttered, trying to dispel the image of Scabior acquiring the hand by removing Peter Pettigrew's corpse from the cellar of Malfoy Manor.

"So the only way to get rid of the hand…"

The mood darkened instantly, and Ginny found she could not finish her ominous statement.

"The only way _we_," Ron emphasized, pointing at himself and Harry, "get that hand is if we get Scabior. As long as he cooperates, there's no need to get carried away."

"I'm not sure Voldemort would be pleased with that approach," Hermione countered, none too pleased herself with her own words.

"But I'm confused," Harry said, looking to Ron. "I thought you said Scabior just woke up one day without his hand. Like one day it was a glove and the next he's missing a left hand. How did Scabior defy Voldemort's orders asleep?"

"It makes no sense," Hermione grumbled, rubbing at her eyes, "that the charm would slice off its fleshy counterpart. It's the only contradiction we've found so far."

"I figure he could have had a dream where he saved you from a burning building," Ron told Harry. "Hermione isn't exactly sold on the idea though."

"But Ron," Ginny frowned at her brother, "couldn't he have been lying or something?"

"Gone crazy, more like," but Ron didn't seem too sure of himself as he shrugged. "But it's such a minute detail to lie about. Seems like a rather pointless fib."

"Well it seems to me that Scabior had no idea what he was getting himself into when the charm turned over to him," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "He _must _have done something for it to take his real hand off, and since then he's driven himself insane with trying to please his hand. The worst part is that he needn't do anything for it, as long as he's not, well, saving puppies or giving gifts to orphans. He's a slave to the spell, and he's going to end up killing innocent people because of it."

It was then that Harry took a glance at Ron's hands and gave a look akin to only having just noticed him sitting at his side

"What happened to your hands?"

Ron frowned and stared at their peachy shade.

"What's wrong with them?"

"They're orange!"

"They are not!" Ron said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. "They're the perfect shade. Maybe yours are just really pale."

Harry stared in confusion at his own hands as Hermione failed to hide a smile.

"Right, well, if that's it," Ginny said, rising to her aching feet, "we need to go relieve Teddy. He's been at it for nearly seven hours now."

"Two Galleons says James is still awake," Ron mumbled, throwing his legs over the armrest and placing his head in Hermione's lap.

"He'd better not be," Harry said sternly, standing up as well. But his shoulders slumped as he admitted, "But he probably will be. Guess I'll be seeing you bright and early tomorrow then, Ron."

"Doubtful," Ron closed his eyes and frowned. "I reckon I'll spend most of my morning getting chewed out by Williams. Expect an informational meeting after lunch, assuming Williams hasn't strangled me."

"I'll plan on that, then. Get some sleep while you can, then."

"You too."

The Potters left via the Floo Network before Hermione carefully moved her husband's head from her lap and stood up slowly.

"You know what? I think I might actually like research," Ron said, stretching out his whole body on the couch.

"Oh really?" she asked, a sly grin on her face. "Because I've been working on this project for so long that I could really use some help researching an old rune found last month in Egypt that I've been neglecting—"

"Let me rephrase that then. I like it when _you_ do research, you clue me in, and _then _we clue in everyone else. Makes me feel good."

Hermione rolled her eyes but did nothing more than help her husband to his feet.

"Glad I could help you feel important," she smirked.

"No, really," Ron pulled her into his body for a hug, "I appreciate all the time you've put into this. It's helped me out tremendously."

Hermione smiled genuinely and held him tightly.

"I knew we'd find it eventually," she sighed.

"I didn't doubt you for a second."

It was still there, even after all these years.

Faith.

But it was a mere three hours later, when his children demanded comfort from murdering madmen-induced nightmares, that Ron realized a more pressing lesson to the two stories he had told that night:

He really _did _tell the worst and most disturbing bedtime stories in history.

* * *

**A/n**: And that's all she wrote, folks. For now, at least. I'm going on vacation this Friday for a week, but with any luck I can get something written while I'm gone.

I know this chapter was confusing. Here's a quick list to help you out. If there are any other questions, don't hesitate to ask!

_Servus manus_/silver hand rules:  
-Do servant's bidding (act as a powerful but otherwise normal hand)  
-Punish/kill servant if servant directly contrasts original spell caster/master's wishes.  
-Can only be destroyed if:  
=Spell caster/master casts _Finite Incantatem_, or some equivalent dispelling Charm.  
=Died/killed in the line of duty.

I think that's all of them…hope I didn't lose any of you now that I actually have…like…a plot….

To all of those of you who do decide to stick around, I thank you tremendously for your support. You are all extremely generous with your kind reviews, although don't think that means you discourage me if you write some critiques. I'm open to any and all reviews!

…Well, maybe flames wouldn't be that appreciated. But that's only because I feel I really take the time to write a relatively entertaining story, and I can't fathom why anyone would want to flame it.

But that's just my opinion. Love you guys!

~dieselwriter

P.S.: That poll I have on my profile...well...let's just say that the results may alter future events in this fic. One person on the poll list is _definitely_ going to show up and play a relatively important role.


	23. School

**A/n**: I know, I suck.

**Edit: **Because the above statement is true, and I like being culturally correct. Thanks for the positive criticism, IWantANathanScott.

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 23: The Tale of School**

"_School day, school day, my favorite day of the year is here_!"

The two children glared at their father, obviously not amused.

"_School day, school day,_" he continued singing all the same, oblivious to all but the wonderful fact that his children were about to be sent off to their first day of Muggle school for the year.

"Hugo, please go get your shoes on," Hermione ran into the kitchen, a toothbrush hanging from her mouth and rucksacks held in her hands. "Rosie, did you brush your teeth?"

"Yes Mum," Rosie rolled her eyes, having answered that question twice already by her preoccupied mother. But she left the room anyway to retrieve her shoes before Hermione could notice.

"I've already got my shoes on!" Hugo complained, scowling heavily at his pajama-clad father.

"Your jacket then, dear," she said before also getting an eyeful of her husband, still in his sleepwear and eating a massive bowl of cereal. "Comfortable?"

"Extremely," Ron gave a big grin at Hugo, who looked even more annoyed before stomping off to locate his jacket. The kitchen thus empty of children, he stood up and grabbed the rucksacks from his wife, who was busy trying to place her signature on some school forms. "Need any help?"

"Find the car keys?" Hermione pleaded, eyes still focused on the quill scratching across the surface of the paper.

"Sure thing."

He carried the rucksacks out of the kitchen and smiled as he glanced at his children down the hall. Hugo was having a difficult time pulling a jumper too small for him over his head, while Rosie was lacing up the new shoes she had just recently bought. She had cleaned them every night last week, claiming that she wanted them to be absolutely perfect for her first day.

"_School day, school day_," Ron chanted in his sing-song voice, and both children groaned as he shuffled his socked feet over to them, placing their bags on the floor beside the front door. "Aren't you supposed to be getting your jacket, Hugo?"

"No jacket. Jacket's itchy. And you have to go to work later, you know," Hugo got out as he finally succeeded in pulling the sweater over his head. The sleeves proved to be at least an inch too short, exposing his freckled wrists.

"I think you grabbed the wrong jumper," Rosie stated the obvious, pointing a finger at the _L _emblazoning his chest. "In fact, I think Lily left that over here last week."

"Eurgh!" Hugo quickly pulled the green sweater back over his head. "Then where is _my _jumper?"

"Lily might've grabbed yours by accident," Ron said, peeking his head into the closet but unable to find his son's green sweater. "That's okay, I'll grab one of mum's old ones for you."

"_Dad_!" his son gave a scandalized look.

"What?" he asked, feigning confusion. "Nobody'd know the difference. H for Hermione, or H for Hugo. See?"

Grabbing his wife's lilac sweater, he held it out for his son to get a view of. His façade broke at seeing Hugo's mortified expression.

"Jacket?" Ron laughed, tossing his wife's sweater back in before pulling out his son's school-approved jacket.

"Jacket," Hugo sighed in defeat, shoving his arms through the sleeves after accepting the proffered itchy jacket.

"We need to be leaving," Rosie said, checking her watch.

"Not yet," Ron reminded her, stepping forward to grab hold of her wrist. "Remember? You set your watch forward twenty minutes so you wouldn't be late."

He adjusted the watch to the correct time, before tossing her a sly smile.

"Just enough time for a quick back to school story, in fact."

"Not exactly," Hugo stepped up hurriedly, grabbing his sister's wrist from his father's grip to get at her watch. "I set it forward a half hour as a joke, so that means it's _definitely _time to go."

"But knowing you so well I set it back eighteen minutes," Ron retook his daughter's arm and wound the watch to the new time.

"But _I _saw _you _change it when you didn't think I was looking," Hugo took the watch and reset it. "So I went in after you were done with it and set it forward another half hour."

"So that really _does _mean we're running late," Rosie snatched her arm out of her brother's and father's grips before any more harm could come to it.

"Not quite so," Ron said, pointing at his own watch. "I figured Hugo might mess with it again, so I took the liberty to make sure _my _watch was at the correct time. And the current time reads seven thirty—ten minutes _before _we have to leave—which leaves us with just enough time for a story about your mother's first day of school after the Second Wizarding War."

Both children looked extremely dumbfounded by this infallible logic, but that confusion quickly turned to more discontent as their father began his tale.

* * *

He was late. He was _really _late. So late that he was almost guaranteed a triple shouting match between his mum, Ginny, and Hermione. But it's not like it was _his _fault the newly established Ministry of Magic's defensive spells meant he wasn't allowed to Apparate right to the train station.

Not that Apparition would have been his first method of travel anyway, given that he was more than suitably nervous and his finger nails had only very recently grown back completely. Thus the only option left to him was to Floo, and the only fireplace connected to the Floo network nearby King's Cross was a wizened old hag's who lived a mile away.

So there truly was no reason for the women in his life to gang up on him. Mind, a silly little thing like logic wasn't going to stop his mother or sister. His girlfriend, on the other hand, might be up to the task of at least listening before verbally castrating him.

Despite the unpleasant thought, Ron grinned from ear to ear as he rushed past a rather portly bloke in an expensive, highly uncomfortable-looking Muggle suit.

_Girlfriend_. Oh, how he liked the sound of that. He and Hermione hadn't been together for very long—officially, that is, otherwise it could get complicated—yet he had never been happier.

Most of their summer had been eventful, what with the reconstruction of Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic, as well as retrieving Hermione's parents and their memories. Yet no matter what tasks they performed together during the day, Ron and Hermione always took their own time off after dinner; sometimes to take a walk down by the pond in the backyard of the Burrow, to head down to the Muggle village of Ottery St. Catchpole, or on rare occasions they would head to the Weasley's makeshift Quidditch Pitch for private flying lessons. It was nearly unbelievable to imagine this cherished part of his summer, given how poorly it had started off.

It was by no means perfect, though. The arguments hadn't stopped, and to be honest Ron doubted they ever would. But it wasn't like it was always a bad thing; Harry mentioned repeatedly how concerned he was when they got along too well.

Sometimes, however, it was bad.

Their row last night reverberated in his skull as he rounded a corner at breakneck speed.

_I just don't see why you _have _to go back to school, Hermione. Kingsley could work it so you could have any job you wanted in the Ministry. He's the Minister, for Merlin's sake!_

_I know I don't _have _to go back. I _want _to. I like school. I want to complete my Hogwarts education._

_It's not like you're going to learn anything new. You already know all the N.E.W.T. level spells._

_I want to show support to the school though, Ron. McGonagall needs all the help she can get this year._

_You can still support it but not go. Harry and I both support it._

_I know you do, Ron, but it's really something I feel like I should do, just like how you feel like you should help George out at the shop._

_It's nothing like that!_

_Ron—_

_It's a bloody school, Hermione! George is my brother. They're not even remotely close to being the same!_

_I know that, Ron—_

_Then don't act like it is!_

_All right, I'm sorry. They aren't the same. But that doesn't change the fact that I still want to go back and finish my schooling._

_And that doesn't change the fact that I think it's a waste of time._

It hadn't been very pretty after that. Comparing Hermione's education—nay, comparing _anyone's _education—to something worthless brought about the same reaction as would kicking a house elf with a steel-toed boot right in front of her.

Ron finally entered King's Cross and dashed for the magical barrier to Platform 9¾ as he frantically checked his watch. Swearing at the mere sixty seconds he had to reach his girlfriend, he pushed his way through other frenzied travelers who glared at him as he shoved past.

"Oi, you, slow down!" an angry porter shouted after him as he hurdled over a little girl's trunk, but Ron was able to successfully dodge any incoming interference from the Muggle by ducking behind a party of American tourists and disappearing through the magical barrier when their backs were turned.

The gleaming scarlet engine, which was supposed to be there just as it always did on September the first, was chugging away as Ron stumbled onto the platform

"NO! WAIT!" he shouted and cursed, weaving through the straggling well wishers littering the platform. It was no use, though; Ron watched forlornly as the train disappeared around the bend, effectively making him feel like the utter arse that he was.

"Running a little late, aren't we Ronnie?"

"You're the one—who turned off—" Ron panted, doubling over to try and relieve the severe stitch in his side, "my alarm—this morning!"

"I don't think you realize how annoying it is to hear the Chudley Cannons' anthem every morning."

"Fantastic," Ron spat, standing back up. "Thanks to your terrible taste in music Hermione's never going to talk to me again."

"Oh calm down, little brother. I'm about to do you a favor."

Ron frowned deeply, remembering that the last favor George had paid him involved a summer of back-breaking labor cleaning up the shop for very little pay. George seemed unaware of that fact, however, as he threw an arm over his little brother's shoulder.

"Given most of our paying customers just left with that train, I reckon I can handle the shop tonight."

Ron wasn't convinced.

"What's the catch?"

"Now Ronnie, I'm offended. I'm your older brother; I have to be looking out for your best interests. And if that involves letting you say goodbye to your girlfriend so she doesn't hex me into the next century for making you miss her train, then so be it."

"Your selflessness is inspiring. But weren't you supposed to meet with Angelina tonight?"

"We can always reschedule it for another day," George replied offhandedly, as if the fury of his own girlfriend was nothing to be concerned about. "Your dinner date, however, cannot."

"You're sure?"

"'Course I'm sure. Just something to keep in mind, though," and here, George lowered his voice, as if ready to share a personal secret. "Next time, go with sweets. No easier way to a woman's heart than chocolate."

Ron, who had been anticipating some vital information, rolled his eyes as George removed his arm from his shoulder and threw his brother a lazy smirk. The elder Weasley led the way back down the platform toward his rather hostile-looking mother and his brother's relatively relaxed best friend. Ron debated all of two seconds leaving for Hogsmeade now, but the train wouldn't arrive until that evening and he really didn't fancy waiting around that long. He therefore tentatively followed in George's shadow and was properly accosted by his mother moments later.

"I cannot _believe _you!" she shrieked, and Ron tried in vain to cower behind Harry, who had been trying to casually observe the argument rather than become involved. "I thought I raised you better than this!"

Feeling he ought to have waited in Hogsmeade now to avoid this confrontation, he barely managed to squeak out half an accusation against his brother before being interrupted.

"_I _don't want to hear your apology!" she continued at a very high octave, misinterpreting his words as an act of contrition. "You need to go to Hermione and tell her you're sorry yourself!"

"I was planning on it," Ron grumbled, but his mother did not seem to hear him as she hugged him tightly.

"It is good to see you though, dear. Although," she pulled out of the embrace and held him out at arm's length, "maybe you ought to think about a shower."

"I was running late!" Ron tried to defend himself as Harry and George snickered loudly behind him. "Thanks to _somebody_!"

"Don't blame me for your foul odor," George dodged his brother's glare by folding his arms over his chest and giving a somber expression. "Honestly, I try to promote a healthy and hygienic environment in our flat. It's hard enough just to get him to brush his teeth once a week sometimes."

"Oh you're a real riot," Ron replied sarcastically, but the effect was lost as his mother pulled him into another hug.

"When we realized you wouldn't make it on time, George said he'd let you off of work early to go meet up with Hermione. So please think about trying to find something nice to wear, preferably something that was washed recently."

"_Mum_!" Ron pulled away for a scowl, but his mother was already making her way over to George to complain about how his unkempt facial hair made him look highly unprofessional.

"You're dead, you know that, right?"

"Your support is really appreciated, mate," Ron mumbled as he turned on Harry, who held up his hands in defeat.

"Hey, I was referring to Ginny. She looked set to kill when you didn't show up. I recommend getting something for Hermione and your sister so they don't curse you on the spot."

"This is none of Ginny's business."

"Tell that to her when she's hitting you with a Bat Bogey Hex."

Ron had nothing to say about that. He hadn't yet been on the receiving end of one of those, and he didn't intend to have that change any time soon.

"All girls like flowers, that's all I'm saying," Harry advised wisely.

"Harry, didn't you mention that Kingsley wanted you back at the Ministry at 11:30?" Mrs. Weasley asked, only after finishing her scrutiny of George.

"Yeah, but it's only," Harry checked his watch and swore before heading briskly for the magical barrier. "I've got to run! But remember! Flowers!"

"Well this has been a fun little meeting," George spoke up, moving into the spot Harry had just vacated. "But we really should be running. I've given little Ronnie here the night off, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get to help with the day shift. Mother, may we escort you to the barrier?"

"That would be lovely, boys," Mrs. Weasley returned his grin, allowing each of her sons to take hold of one of her arms and lead her to the exit.

George's generous nature all but ended when he and Ron showed up for their noon shift at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. He worked his younger brother right up until an hour before the Hogwarts Express was scheduled to arrive at Hogsmeade Station.

So it was with a few minutes to spare that a relatively clean Ron (at his mother's suggestion) headed to Hogsmeade Station, blushing faintly as he towed along a newly transfigured bouquet of flowers and a recently purchased apology set of Honeydukes' best truffles.

He turned the corner and his tokens of affection nearly dropped out of his hands as his gaze fell on the numerous stagecoaches waiting for its student passengers in the street.

"Bloody hell!"

"Blimey, Ron, is that you?"

Squinting further up the dark road, Ron could make out the very familiar form of Hagrid who, true to form, was holding up his lantern and looking at Ron in surprise.

"Hagrid," Ron breathed in relief and nearly sprinted up the road to hover between his old friend and the entrance to the station, as far away as he could get from the strange, frightening creatures standing between the carriage shafts. "What the hell are _those_?"

Hagrid laughed as Ron pointed a shaking finger at the closest monster, an odd mixture of a horse and bat with haunting, milky-white eyes.

"Now Ron, I know yeh dropped me class, bu' I had hoped you'd learned something from me! These're thestrals, o' course!"

Ron made a noise that resembled a hiccupping frog at realizing that this was what he had ridden on to get to the Ministry of Magic in his fifth year.

"So you can see 'em now, eh? Well, wha' d'yeh think?"

Ron bit his tongue as the thestral he had pointed to stared straight at him, adding on to the amount of butterflies already frantically fluttering around in his stomach.

"Beau'iful, aren' they?"

"Er, yeah, something like that."

He nearly jumped out of his skin as the staring thestral moved his skeletal face in Ron's direction and sniffed in interest.

"I think she likes yeh!" Hagrid boomed in excitement, giving Ron an encouraging pat on the back that made him stumble several feet forward toward the curious creature. "Go on, say hi! Not of'en one of 'em gets an int'rest in someone apar' from me!"

Ron stood exceptionally still as the thestral sniffed uncomfortably close, moving from his shoulder to take a whiff of the Honeydukes' chocolate clenched tightly in his fist. He flinched spectacularly as the thestral sneezed loudly, effectively drenching Ron's entire front in bogies.

"Sorry abou' that, Ron," Hagrid laughed, taking a rather grimy handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the snot off Ron's face.

"Thanks, it's fine, I've got it," Ron stepped back, able to relax now that he was out of the thestral's sneezing range.

"Buttercup here's jus' gettin' over a cold," Hagrid explained, patting the thestral affectionately. "Guess I shoulda warned yeh."

"No big deal," Ron returned, hiding his amusement at the thestral's odd name while wiping off the mess as best he could.

"So I thought yeh weren't comin' back this year? Decided yeh couldn' stay away?"

"Just came to see Hermione off, actually," Ron said, returning the handkerchief back to his half-giant friend while checking his watch at the reminder.

"We should be thinkin' abou' headin' inside then," Hagrid said, head cocked to the side as if waiting for something. A distant whistle sounded a moment later, and Hagrid held open the station door while chuckling. "Nice ter hear that sound again. After you."

Ron walked inside and the butterflies in his stomach seemed to go into a frenzy as the train whistle sounded again, much louder.

"Good, good," Hagrid said distractedly as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station. "Time ter get ter work, I suppose. You take care o' yerself, Ron."

"Thanks Hagrid," Ron made his goodbyes nervously as the train halted and uniformed students began piling out of the compartments. "Have fun with the first years."

"O' course! An' don' be so nervous!"

Hagrid grinned down at him and Ron tried to return it before making his way through the crowd, surprised to feel a bit of nostalgia as he heard Hagrid's booming voice over the chatter of all the students: "Firs' years, this way! Oi! Firs' years!"

Ron weaved through the large herd of midgety students fumbling over their robes to reach the half-giant before taking stock of where he was and trying to decide where Hermione should be.

"Ronald, m'boy, could that possibly be you?"

Ron's eyebrows furrowed at the familiar voice used in a genial tone he had never heard before spoken to him. He turned to find his old Potions professor smiling jovially at him, as if he had bumped into an old friend accidentally.

"And here I was told you weren't coming back to Hogwarts this year!" Slughorn guffawed, looking every bit the same as Ron remembered him with a walrus mustache and wearing large, luxurious robes.

"Are you sure you've got the right guy?" Ron gave an uneasy smile, looking behind him in case he was actually trying to communicate to someone else.

"Of course I'm sure!" Slughorn practically yelled for all the station to hear. "Harry Potter only had one best friend when destroying You-Know-Who's Hor—er, you-know-whats last year! I was worried when you didn't show up for our little get-together on the train, but now that I know you'll be attending school this year, I can introduce you to everyone you missed today—"

"I think you're a little confused," Ron interrupted. "Harry Potter had _two _best friends helping him out last year, and I'm not the one coming back to Hogwarts this year—"

"We'll work out the details with Minerva later," Slughorn swatted away Ron's words as if they were utterly meaningless to him. "Now, come share a carriage with me, and we'll discuss our first meeting of the school term."

"No, really—"

"I insist!" Slughorn all but dragged Ron in the exact opposite direction he wanted to go in. "What date would work best for you? Sometime this week, perhaps?"

"I can't—" Ron tried to make a move, but the Potions professor grabbed onto his arm.

"Or maybe next—eurgh, what is all this?"

Slughorn retracted his mucus-covered hand before taking a moment to glance at Ron's dirtied outfit, and when his gaze lingered over the Honeydukes bag in his hand, Ron was struck with sudden inspiration.

"Oh, er, for you, sir!" Ron extended the bag, eager to find a way out of this situation quickly. "You should really have some."

"But what would my Healer say?" Slughorn mumbled, now looking everywhere but the bag, as if he were embarrassed to have been caught even glancing at it.

"It's good for you!" Ron pressed, holding out the bag enticingly. "Dark chocolate, you know, all the Healers are swearing by it."

"I suppose one couldn't hurt," Slughorn's eyes twinkled in pleasure as took the bag.

"Why don't you go reserve a carriage and I'll meet up with you later?"

"Yes, very well, Ron," he returned thickly, having just popped a truffle into his mouth. "Don't be long!"

Ron turned around and ran as fast as he could through the throng, away from the overbearing professor. That small, unascertainable desire he held back in sixth year to be inducted into the Slug Club seemed automatically foolish now, after spending a mere minute with the man. He wasn't sure how Hermione, Harry, and Ginny had been able to handle it.

"Ronald."

The sister he had been envisioning seemingly came to life right before his eyes, emerging from the thinning crowd of students and looking positively murderous.

"Ginny…"

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't curse you into oblivion."

Ron swallowed dryly before moving the arm holding the bouquet up robotically, allowing his baby sister to take the flowers from him.

She glanced at the delicate buds before glaring at him, obviously debating how to react to such an unexpected present.

"I'll hex the shit out of you if she comes back to me upset," Ginny growled, giving her best _I really mean it _look.

She turned on the spot, fingering the petals gingerly while making her way to the doorway leading out onto the street.

Ron sighed, now empty-handed, before turning around and nearly bowling over someone right behind him.

"Oh, I'm sor—" Ron started, placing his hands on the person's shoulders to help steady them.

The rest of his apology died in his throat as he realized he was holding Hermione.

* * *

"We need to leave! NOW!" Hermione interrupted, bypassing her family to open the front door.

"Aww, Hermione, I was just getting to the good part!"

"Time for school!" Hugo shouted, sounding eager at the prospect for the very first time.

"Car keys?" Hermione asked as she ushered her children outside.

"Oh! Uh…" Ron didn't have to look very hard; he located the keys on the hook hanging by the door, just where they were supposed to be when Ron wasn't responsible for putting them away.

"Thanks," Hermione said as her husband handed her the keys. "I love you, and I'm sorry!"

"I love you, too," Ron kissed her before she rushed out the door after her children. "But I'm not sorry about it!"

"I meant about cutting your story short!" she yelled back at him as she slid into the car. "You can finish it after school!"

"_Mu__m_!" Rosie protested loudly as she climbed into the car. "_No_!"

"School's bad enough without having _that _looming over our heads!" Hugo added, climbing in after his sister.

"You can count on it!" Ron shouted over them. "Think of it as something to look forward to during your first _school day, school day_!"

Ron swore his last dig earned him complaining so loud and penetrating that even their closed car doors couldn't block it out. He waved them off with a smile after Hermione started the ignition and pulled out of the driveway.

"Well _I _thought it was a good story," Ron mumbled, closing the door slowly when his family had disappeared down the street. "Maybe I'll throw in a Chimaera for good measure next time. Nothing like a Chimaera fight to spice up a story. Yeah, haven't done that yet…"

A hoot interrupted that train of thought, and Ron turned to frown at Lady, who was sitting on the cloak rack, sticking out a leg with a note tied to it for him to take.

"Oh bah, like you've never fudged the truth before," Ron grumbled as he shuffled forward, taking care when pulling the note free. His efforts earned him a nip on the finger before she puffed out her feathers, no doubt expecting a reward.

"Thanks," Ron muttered distractedly, petting her on the head twice before unfurling the letter. Lady hooted angrily but Ron ignored her as he read the letter.

He finished reading and found himself raising an eyebrow, unsure of how to respond to the absurd contents. He reread it but it still didn't make much more sense to him.

"You have _got _to be kidding me," Ron muttered, rubbing at his eyes as if to blame them for the strange news.

As if to directly deny any joke, Ron heard what could only have been the distant sound of someone tumbling out of his fireplace.

"Ron? You ready to go?" Harry called out, walking out into the hallway to find his best friend still in his sleepwear. "Apparently not."

"Just read your letter, actually," he returned, holding up the note in annoyance. "This can't be true. This is a joke."

"Well, that's what they pay us for, to check this stuff out," Harry shrugged. "C'mon, get dressed. We've got work to do."

"But really," Ron pleaded, in an obvious attempt to stay in his comfortable clothes and socks for as long as possible, "how does Travis Scabior, the most wanted wizard in the Wizarding world, waltz down Diagon Alley, steal an _owl _of all things from the Magical Menagerie, and Apparate away without getting caught?"

"Search me," Harry said, shrugging again.

"But now my cereal's going to get all soggy," Ron moaned, even as he trudged down the hallway to his bedroom to get changed. "Stupid Scabior. An owl, _really_?"

Ron's door slammed shut just as Lady hooted loudly again, as if to explain exactly why an owl would be a necessary accessory to a loony criminal. Harry had to laugh at his friend's lamentations.

"_Work day_,_ work day_, _time to make Travis Scabior pay_!"

Ron stuck his head out of his bedroom door to glare at a bemused Harry.

"What? Lily was singing something like it this morning. Says she learned it from her Uncle Ron."

"I taught her and my kids the _School_ Day Song last week. There is no such thing as a _Work_ Day Song."

"I believe I just made it up then! Rather catchy, don't you think?" Harry grinned cheekily at an unamused Ron, who retreated back to his room to finish getting ready.

"_Work day, work day—_!"

"Oh SHUT IT!"

* * *

**A/n**: Oh, how the plot thickens….

My sincerest apologies for not updating sooner. Being an adult sucks. A lot. Finding a job is even worse. Just warning you guys who are in school…enjoy it (or at least benefit from it) while you can.

Updates might be a bit infrequent until I can get settled with my current situation. I've been moving around the country a lot and it's been hard to find the time to just sit and write. I've also been working on another fic that I swear I've mentioned before…it was meant to be up before HBP came out, but that obviously didn't happen. Be on the lookout for it, though…I predict it'll be up before the next _Tales _chapter.

Expect the next chapter to have the rest of this chapter's tale, as well as a cameo or two from some special red-headed guests. Yay for Weasley loving!

And once again, thank you to all of my loyal reviewers. I know I've been a pretty big you-know-what when it comes to replying to reviews and updating and things, but I truly do appreciate you all and hope you continue to read and comment on my story. I love getting your input and support…plus, it's always a motivator to write more *wink*wink*nudge*nudge*

~dieselwriter

P.S.- Don't think I've forgotten the results of the poll. I'm working on it for a future chapter, I swear. Should be fun to write. ;)

P.P.S.- For those thinking ill of the School Day Song, I swear it's real. Often sung by my own dad, in fact. I almost miss hearing it…almost.


	24. Letters

**A/n**: Please be kind. I am a poor unemployed graduate spending her free time writing fanfiction.

This chapter consists of a few cameos I think you'll enjoy, including Promoted!Percy and, wait for it…A NON-CANON CHARACTER?! What has this world come to?!

For those of you wondering why the beginning is so long, let me just say that 1) I wanted to try my hand at writing Percy and B) I may or may not have foreshadowed a few things. Maybe. Or maybe not. It's possibly probable.

**WARNING**: I would suggest refreshing your brains by re-reading the last chapter, or at least the flashback of the last chapter. I know it's been a while, and since the flashbacks go hand in hand, you may need a reminder of what happened.

**Dedication**: For my loving baby seester Hannah on her birthday. As mentioned above, I am a poor unemployed graduate spending my free time writing fanfiction, so this is your present. I hope you enjoy it even though it has no monetary value and will only provide about 15 minutes worth of entertainment, depending on how fast you read, of course.

With that out of the way, let me just say: UUUUUUUUUUUUUU-

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 24: The Tale of Letters**

"Nigel, this is not that difficult. _Read_ what you have to me again, _slowly_."

"Sorry," the young man pulled at his collar nervously, skimming over his report again while following in the wake of the Auror down the hallway. "Three witnesses, all claiming to see Scabior—"

"Really? Three? That's two more than I thought we had. Have any of these witnesses identified him?"

"Yes, sir, two of them."

"Two?"

"We haven't been able to cooperate with the third witness, sir."

"What? Why not?"

Nigel averted his eyes to the floor and Ron quickly tried to sneak a peak at the minuscule text scrawled across the notes he was clutching.

"His father doesn't want him involved with the investigation."

Ron glanced at the fidgeting Junior Assistant, confused.

"And why does that matter?"

"The witness is ten, sir."

Nigel and Ron shared a glance before the Auror blinked and shot an arm out in an attempt to nab the report Nigel had been so covetous of, but the young man, quite used to the red head's undermining efforts, held them out of reach.

"You know something," Ron's eyes narrowed in accusation, folding his arms over his chest defiantly.

"The father is willing to testify," Nigel continued as if outbursts such as these were common when conversing with the Auror (and, indeed, it was oftentimes true), "but does not want his son to be involved."

"C'mon, Nigel…I come all the way up here and you're hiding information? I'm hurt."

"For now it's _confidential _information, Auror Weasley."

"It's _Ron_, for the millionth time, Nigel. How long have you been my number one go-to Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic? If I wanted to hear the word _confidential _I would have asked my brother about the case."

"I'll fail to mention, possibly for the millionth time as well, that I'm the _only _Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic," Nigel muttered, but seemed more disheartened than annoyed. "You know I'd tell you if I could."

Ron looked at the sincere Nigel and found, to his great annoyance, that the young man was getting far too good at making him feel guilty for snooping.

"Just one glance. Percy doesn't have to kn—"

"Ron? Ron, that you?"

The Auror froze in his tracks, making out the form of his best mate at the end of the hallway, before turning his back on him abruptly to face the Junior Assistant.

"I'll take a copy of the report as soon as it's available then, Nigel," Ron spoke from the corner of his mouth and tapped at Nigel's papers absentmindedly.

"RON! Lookit! A new letter, just in today—"

"_Stall him_!"

Ron walked as fast yet casually as he could down the hallway, made a left, and entered the first open door.

"Ron? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Wincing at this further abysmal luck, Ron shut and locked the door behind him anyway and muttered a _Muffliato _at the doorway, rather content to face his elder brother than his best friend at the moment.

The witty retort to his brother's inquiry vanished from his mind as something heavy pounded on the door frantically.

"No, no—Percy…Percy, you have to listen to me—" Ron stuttered, shaking his head fiercely as his older brother rose from his seat in concern.

"What is going on?" Percy asked, confusion written all over his face. "Who's—"

"Percy? You in there?"

"Oh! Harry! Excellent!" Percy smiled at hearing his brother-in-law's voice coming from the opposite side of the door and walked around his desk. "The Minister has been asking for him all week—"

"Is Ron there? Have you seen him? He _has _to see this! Percy?!"

Percy stopped a step away from Ron, who was leaning his back against the door either in an effort to blockade Harry from forcing his way into the office or else to keep his older brother from escaping.

"Why can't he hear me?" Percy asked, and Ron had to hide a smile at his older brother's near-pout.

"Muffliato Charm," Ron shrugged, unwilling to move and compromise his position in front of the door. "Please, Perce, let me use your Floo and you can go out and accost Harry all you want."

"You know us pencil-pushers in the Minister's Support Staff aren't allotted the luxuries of the Floo network in our budget. Now _please _move so I can talk to Harry."

"I don't think Senior Undersecretary to the Minister counts as a pencil-pusher—"

"Ron. _Move_."

"I didn't want it to have to come to this, Percy."

The Weasley brothers stared each other down momentarily as Harry continued to pound at the door and whine about wanting to see Ron. Percy blinked, hesitated another beat and stepped forward slowly. Ron reacted immediately, pouncing on his brother and causing them both to crash to the floor.

"_NO_! RON!"

"_Please_, Perce! You can talk to him later!"

Both brothers were of a similar stature, but given the sometimes physically demanding nature of Ron's line of work and the relatively non-vigorous nature of his elder brother's, the minor scuffle was mostly one-sided, the advantage embarrassingly belonging to the younger Weasley.

"The Minister—needs—to discuss—something—with him!" Percy wheezed, trying in vain to climb his way over Ron's shoulder and to the door to let Harry in.

"Discuss it _later_!" Ron wailed, unwilling to vanquish his bear hold on his older brother.

"Dammit," Harry swore as other disgruntled Ministry employees in nearby offices voiced their irritation over the racket he was causing in the hallway. "Did all the Weasley Ministry employees get off work early or something? Guess I should check the Atrium one more time…"

His footsteps were loud and heavy with disappointment before they disappeared altogether. Ron sighed in relief as he released his brother.

"Never do that again," Percy huffed, out of breath. He grimaced before smoothing out his rumpled robes and returning to his pristine desk.

"So how exactly are you supposed to escape your office in case of an emergency if you don't have a Floo?" Ron asked sheepishly, in a rather pathetic attempt at reconciliation.

"_I _do not have a Floo so that no one can come into this office that I don't want in," Percy replied, spying the mediocre attempt at civility and not appreciating it, not after such a blatant display of degrading brutality. "In an emergency _not _involving a younger sibling harassing them I tend to use the Emergency Portkey I have stowed away in my desk."

"Which did me absolutely no good in this situation," Ron grumbled.

"You know, it is very interesting to note that, while I have been trying to contact him all week, my brother-in-law only seeks me out in an attempt to find _you_," Percy continued to grouse, clearly disappointed with both Harry's and Ron's actions. "You intend to avoid him forever?"

"You make forever seem like such a long time," Ron avoided his brother's judgmental eyes. "But no, not _forever_, necessarily. I'm thinking the next six or seven years, at least. Depends on how long James is at Hogwarts. Based on those progress reports Gin keeps getting, he won't be graduating for ten years."

"Now don't say that," his bespectacled brother admonished. "Joining the Quidditch team will hopefully instill a sense of responsibility in our nephew—"

"Can we _please _not talk about it right now? I swear to Godric I've had to listen to Harry drone on and on about his son joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team for over two months now. It's time to give it a rest already."

"Well how would you react if Rose got on the team?"

"_When _Rose gets on the team," Ron amended immediately, "I shall accept it with all the grace and humility Hermione will force me to display."

"I don't doubt that," Percy relented with a small smile before checking his watch. "Harry's probably at the Atrium by now. If you ask nicely and don't wrestle her to the ground like a barbarian I'd bet Anderson would let you use her Floo."

"So Advisers get Floo access but Undersecretaries don't? Why isn't that a subject of one of your never-ending reports? It'd make them way more interesting."

Ron's cheeky grin was poorly received.

"You have a very feeble discernment of what is interesting. I'll have you know our staff's current involvement with the Scabior case witnesses has been far more interesting than your attempt to escape Harry's detection."

Ron kept his face as neutral as possible despite his elder brother's knowing smile and the inauspicious tapping of his finger on a folder on his desk.

"Revenge is best served in a report," Percy's shrewd smile widened as he picked up his wand to magically open the previously locked door.

"Has anyone ever told you you'd make a great mad Unspeakable? Because, really, the imitation is uncanny from where I'm standing."

"When you see our dear brother-in-law next, you will let him know I'm anxious to speak with him, won't you?"

"Since I technically owe you one for providing a brief sanctuary," Ron said sarcastically, turning from the temptable papers he so wanted to peruse and the brother holding them hostage, "I suppose it is the least I could do. And the least is certainly the only thing you'll be getting from me."

"I've learned to never expect anything more."

Ron waved him off lazily before stealthily making his way to Anderson's office, should Harry somehow still be lurking around. Considering how his best mate had been hounding him incessantly this past month, he could no longer put anything past him.

The short trip down the hallway went without incident, however, and Anderson—being the reasonable Adviser to the Minister that she was—let him use her Floo without him having a need to threaten or otherwise maim her. Not that any attempts of that particularly violent nature would work; the woman was so adept with a wand that it was rumoured she had once taken out the entire Senior Auror Department in a training session.

"I would appreciate it if the next time you need to use my Floo you didn't have Potter attempt to follow like a raving lunatic, Weasley," Anderson swiped her dark fringe away momentarily in order to look him squarely in the eyes. "How he became an Auror with stealth skills like that I'll never understand."

"If it were up to me I wouldn't have him following me at all," Ron replied, stepping into the green flames of her sizable fireplace.

"Make sure to let him know the Minister wants a word with him next time you see him," she said before returning to her work, not bothering to wave him off.

"Will do," Ron said before shouting for home and disappearing from the office. He didn't mention to her how he sincerely hoped that the next time he saw Harry would be as far away as possible.

And as he entered his living room, he realized his best friend wasn't the only thing he wished he could avoid.

Disfigured chessmen were littered about the floor, angrily gesticulating at the two players lounging in the middle of the floor. Hugo was grinning lazily, clearly close to a victory, while Rosie was bent over in frustrated contemplation, trying in vain to make a move that would not end in her demise.

Father and daughter's eyes met at the same time, and both clutched at their chests, Ron in some attempt to grasp a last breath, Rosie to grab the large gold pendant hanging from her neck and hide it from view.

"What are you doing home, Dad?!"

"What _is _that thing?!"

Their short initial outburst left both Weasleys huffing, unable to verbalize a coherent thought, so the third Weasley in the room made his thoughts known.

"This sounds like a father-daughter conversation," Hugo's victorious grin had faltered, leaving only a trace of amusement. "Why don't I just go see what Mum's up to—"

"No!" Ron shouted before lowering his voice, pointing a shaking, desperate finger at his son. "Sit. Stay. Explain."

The accusatory finger made its way to Rosie, but she remained resiliently silent.

"It's a locket," Hugo answered matter-of-factly for his sister.

The look his father gave him caused him to drop his gaze to the chessmen still alive, not bothering to say anything even as Rosie's king abandoned his sword in an effort to surreptitiously escape from the board and his inevitable defeat.

"Bobby gave it to me as a birthday present last week," Rosie mumbled, finally able to find her voice. The joy such a gift should have caused seemed lost as she judged her father's reaction to such news fearfully.

Ron seemed to understand the gravity his further reaction would cause and sighed heavily, defeated.

"Why don't you go play with your Mum for a bit, Hugo," Ron walked over to the pair of them before ruffling his son's hair.

Hugo didn't seem to need any more invitation than that before he got to his feet and scampered out of the room, not even bothering to try to flatten his now frazzled hair.

"Let's see it, then," Ron said, occupying Hugo's abandoned position and setting the chessboard back up for a new game.

Mostly certain that her father wouldn't destroy it now that he seemed so placid, Rosie relinquished her death grip on the golden trinket and handed it over to him.

"It's…nice…" Ron forced out through clenched teeth, fighting the strong urge to grind the locket into golden subatomic particles. The locket itself was the size of a walnut, seemed slightly worn and bore the Hogwarts emblem.

If it hadn't given him the fright of his life, it perhaps could be accurately described as 'nice'.

"Why did you freak out so bad when you saw—er, I mean," Rosie blushed at seeing her dad's narrowed eyes, "it _is _nice, isn't it? Bobby sent it last week with a birthday card and letter. One of his older sisters gave it to him when she went to Hogwarts."

"That's…nice. You miss him?"

Rose studied him for a moment before reaching out unexpectedly to capture the king that was so desperate to escape and placed him back on the chessboard.

"Yes. He's really enjoying himself, though, and we've been owling each other."

Ron smiled a secret smile but didn't ask anymore questions as he held out the locket for her to take.

"So don't I get a story about the evils of receiving lockets or something?"

The colour drained from Ron's face so rapidly that the small joking smile that had graced Rosie's face was just as quickly replaced with concern.

"Dad? You okay?"

"Yeah," Ron breathed out in a rush. "No locket stories though."

A bemused look crossed Rose's face as she replaced the locket around her neck. "You don't _want _to tell a story? Are you sure you're okay, Dad?"

"Hey now, I didn't say I didn't want to tell a story," Ron interrupted, his face starting to return to a more normal and healthy shade. "In fact, I'd say I have a relatively appropriate one for this situation."

His daughter grimaced, clearly uncertain as to how she had suddenly gotten herself into this predicament. She didn't interrupt, though; instead she finished setting up her side of the board and ordered her first move while Ron began to talk.

* * *

That exceptionally nostalgic feeling was back as Ron stared at Hermione in her Hogwarts robes. The only thing ruining the picture was the tears swimming in her eyes.

"I, uh, came to see you off," Ron said slowly, unsure of what exactly to say but feeling like he should say something. "I was going to come earlier but George turned off my alarm so I sort of…missed the train, actually. But I guess you figured that out."

He hoped Hermione would jump in, but it seemed as though she had gone temporarily mute, so he continued to ramble.

"So you'll be happy to know—well, actually, you probably won't be _happy _about it…but all the same…you know those thestral things you wanted to see in fifth year? You'll be able to see them now! You know, if you still want to, that is. Not that you'll be able to prevent yourself from seeing them, though, because they'll be pulling the carriages to Hogwarts. Hard to really, you know, avoid seeing. You really can't miss them, to be honest. But they seemed pretty calm, I mean, they do this every year. Hagrid has them trained up pretty well. Yeah, one actually sneezed on me, as you can see," here, he gestured at his soiled clothes. "Still, beats those Blast-Ended Skrewts, don't they? Ha, yeah…so how was the train ride?"

Hermione seemed at an utter loss for words, and Ron rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Yeah, well, I don't want you to miss your carriage or anything to Hogwarts, but I just, you know, wanted to see you off. It didn't feel right, leaving things the way we did. I brought you going away gifts, actually, but they, er, got snatched up. Guess you'll have to be a bit faster next time. Not that, you know, I want there to be a next time, because I don't want to have to be getting you gifts. Wait, that came out wrong! I mean…I just don't want to have to be apologizing _with _gifts. Not that gifts are necessary for an apology…it was just Harry and George giving me advice. Didn't seem to go that well, to be honest. Neither did my mom's advice to be clean, actually. And Hagrid's advice to not be nervous kind of fell through too."

Ron paused again, throwing her a nervous grin, but Hermione didn't seem to want to take any active part in this conversation at all. He opened his mouth to make another comment but stopped, undoubtedly preventing himself from shoving his foot even further into his mouth. Knowing their time was limited, he took a deep breath before saying the one thing he had wanted to say, that had been bugging him ever since she told him of her intentions to return to Hogwarts.

"I don't want you to go."

Ron mentally kicked himself at the choice of words that had tumbled out of his mouth before trying again.

"I mean, looking back on all these years…we've never really…been apart, you know? We were at school together, we had most of our holidays together, and now, just when we finally have _us_," here, he gestured the two of them being together by pointing at himself and then her rapidly, "somewhat figured out, it feels like it's getting broken up. I mean, the last time we were apart…"

Ron grimaced as he felt his ears heat up, knowing exactly when that time was and not liking it. Hermione snapped out of whatever stupor she had been in and hugged him tightly.

"It's nothing like that," she stated into his bogied sweater, talking with such conviction that Ron found he wouldn't even know where to try to argue the point if he thought her wrong. "It will never be like that."

"You say that now," Ron joked halfheartedly while resting his chin on top of her head, a comforting habit he had picked up this summer. "I'm really going to miss this."

"Me too."

"I'm sorry about not coming earlier. I meant to, really, but George messed it all up."

"It's fine."

"But I still don't want you to go," Ron reiterated, even though he knew by now that it was futile.

Hermione stepped out of the hug to look up at him, and Ron heard his sister's threat echo in his head as he took in the tear tracks on her cheeks.

"I'm still going."

And that was that.

To Ron, another year at Hogwarts would seem worthless, just as to Hermione, flowers, sweets, and clean clothes meant nothing in comparison to just having him here, supporting her despite his own selfish wishes to magically bind her and drag her back to his flat.

"I know."

And damn it all if he didn't love her for it. He _really _was going to miss her.

"Hermione!"

Both jumped at hearing Ginny's shout from across the platform, reverberating off the large locomotive and solid walls.

"The carriages are leaving! We've gotta go!"

"I guess," Ron tried to give a smile but gave it up quickly and shrugged sadly, "I'll see you around, then."

"I'm going to miss you," she whispered, blinking back more tears as she hugged him tight again.

"Yeah, I know," he returned, his cheeky grin failing given the lump that was suddenly and annoyingly constricting his windpipe.

"_Now_, Hermione!" Ginny yelled again urgently, ducking her head out of the doorway momentarily to shriek at someone outside. "IN A _MINUTE_!"

"Check your bed," Hermione said breathlessly, pulling away again.

Ron didn't have much time to contemplate that particular statement before she was standing on her tiptoes to give him a mostly satisfying goodbye kiss. His only complaint was that it was too short; too soon, she pulled away and was running across the platform to meet up with Ginny, who was still berating whatever unlucky soul was waiting for them in the carriage outside.

Hermione paused at the doorway to wave at him enthusiastically; he returned it but felt he could not muster the same amount of zeal she had. She disappeared a moment later, right on the heels of his sister, and Ron let out a melancholy sigh.

It was therefore a rather depressing and empty-handed walk home, not that he expected things to turn out any differently. That didn't mean he didn't feel dispirited all the same.

"That sounds like the shuffling footsteps of a brother defeated," George shouted from the back room when, ten minutes later, Ron found himself walking through Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

Ron didn't even bother acknowledging his brother's call; he slowly trudged up the stairs to their flat above the shop, not bothering to remove his trainers or dirty sweater when he walked into his room and fell face-first into his bed.

...Which was a mistake, given a quilt had obscured a plate and he bumped his chin rather hard on it. Swearing, he threw the plate and the half-eaten, three-day old sandwich on it to the floor. A screech resounded as the plate clattered on the hardwood and Ron shot out of bed, surprised to find a small, tawny owl glaring at him from his bedside table.

"What do you want?"

The bird ruffled its feathers indignantly but didn't make a sound; it instead waddled across the table and jumped the short distance to the bed. Ron watched it as it headed to his pillow and nudged at a letter he had failed to notice before.

He reached a lazy hand and grabbed at the letter, making the owl fly back to the table in alarm. Recognizing Hermione's absurdly tidy scrawl on the envelope, he nearly ripped the note in his haste to read it.

It was the most un-Hermione letter he had ever read. All formality seemed lost and the painstakingly neat address on the envelope was hardly comparable to the still readable but rapidly written note.

_I've tried writing this letter twelve times but none of them seemed right. I just wanted to let you know that I'm really sorry about our fight. In no way did I mean to relate my return to Hogwarts with you helping out George. That came out wrong, and I apologize for not thinking it out before saying it. That being said, it hurt to hear you think that I'm wasting my time trying to finish my education. I know you think I know everything, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. I'm jealous of you and Harry, really, because you already know what you want to do with your futures. Getting career advice back in fifth year seems a lifetime ago, and after this past year I've learned that I'm no sooner to knowing what I want to do for a career now than I was back then._

_I love you. Every day I'm here I'll wish you were right next to me, trying to copy off my notes. Ginny said she wouldn't mind taking over in your place, and I know she was joking, but it really made me realize that Hogwarts won't be the same without you. I'll miss you every minute I'm here._

_We're pulling into Hogsmeade Station now, so I suppose I'll be talking to you soon. Don't worry about missing me at King's Cross; I'm sure George is somehow to blame. I figured you two living together would cause something like this to happen at some point. Poor timing, but that seems to be the way it usually works with us. I love you, and hope to hear from you soon._

Ron smiled, reading the letter over again before walking over to his desk (stepping on his momentarily forgotten molding sandwich in the process) and setting to work on his response, ignoring the disturbing squishiness between his toes.

* * *

"So every day while your Mum was gone we wrote each other a letter. Mum's tended to be much longer than mine, but I think she appreciated the effort more than anything else."

Rosie pursed her lips in frustration before narrowing her eyes at him.

"You planned this all out, didn't you?"

"Planned what out?"

But Ron's supposedly innocent question was at odds with his command of his rook to make the final move.

"Checkmate."

"Bugger," she scowled as her king once again dropped his sword in defeat to run off the board. "I knew it. You planned out this game to last as long as the story did, and then you'd defeat me to drive home your moral, whatever it was."

"Moral? All my stories don't have to have a moral. They can just be stories sometimes, you know."

His daughter raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Moral of the story: don't forget where you leave ancient half-eaten sandwiches."

"Moral of the story," Ron amended, rising to his feet, "loser cleans up the board."

"_Dad_!" Rosie complained, even as she grabbed onto her escaping king. "Not fair!"

"You asked for a story _and _a moral," he shrugged, nonchalantly heading towards the doorway in order to find his wife and figure out why exactly he hadn't been warned about this locket business beforehand. "Seems plenty fair to me."

Rosie grumbled but was interrupted as the fireplace roared to life with emerald fire and a dark-haired, soot-covered individual stumbled into the room.

"Ron! I finally found you!" Harry beamed widely even as Ron grimaced. "I saw you earlier, but just missed you! Lookit what James just sent! He's just briefed me on some of the drills Campbell had them practicing yesterday—you remember Captain Campbell, don't you?"

"_Nooo_," Ron moaned at the unfortunate intrusion, but Harry seemed to take his reply as an answer.

"Doesn't matter; he has to be scouting professional Quidditch teams. Just _look _at these—"

"Uncle Harry?" Rosie tried to interrupt, seeing the obvious distress her father was in. Her uncle, however, did not.

"—Flying patterns! There's no way a fifth year would be able to come up with this stuff on his own. Ginny's gonna have kneazles when she sees this! He's trying to get them started on—"

"Uncle Harry!"

"—Blind Reverse Passing! Can you believe it? I mean forget just regular Reverse Passing…_Blind _Reverse—"

"Uncle _Harry_!"

Both Aurors cringed at the penetrating shriek. Harry winced at his niece, but she looked up at him unapologetically.

"Do you like my new necklace?"

Her uncle stared at the locket, stunned into momentary (and blissful) silence.

"Do I…what?"

"My new necklace. Do you like it?"

The exhilarated grin that greatly resembled a runner's after having just completed a marathon could have been considered a figment of the imagination, given how quickly it had been replaced with the stunned, lost look Harry now sported.

"Uh, it's, er….well I…Yeah! I mean, er—" he stumbled over his words, turning quickly to Ron to gauge his reaction. "_Do I like it_?" he hissed in a very loud whisper.

Ron didn't answer; he merely offered a somber frown, which was a silent contrast to the laughter begging to bubble out of his mouth. Lacking adequate support from his best mate, Uncle Harry faced his niece and fumbled for an answer.

"I don't…not…like it," he finally got out, his eyes shifting to everything in the room but her.

"But…?" Rosie gave the best disheartened face she could muster, given her father was giving her two broad thumb's up right behind her uncle's back.

"I think…er…oh, look at the time! Is it five already?" Harry proclaimed, making a production of checking his wrist (neither Ron nor Rosie bothered to point out that he was not wearing a watch on it). "I really should be getting home! Ginny probably has dinner waiting on the table—"

"Why would you want to hurry home for _that_?" Ron mumbled as he stuck out his tongue, easily remembering the last disastrous attempt he had made at stomaching his sister's cooking.

"All the same…we'll talk tomorrow, Ron. Later, Rose-toes!"

Harry made posthaste to the fireplace, and Ron and Rosie barely had a moment to reflect his sentiments before he disappeared. Ron shrugged it off and turned to his daughter, beaming.

"I owe you one, _big _time. You're brilliant. You know that, right? Because you really are; you're a star. And I'm not just saying that because I'm your father."

"James might've mentioned it yesterday," Rose shrugged off the compliment, but her neck burned scarlet with Weasley pride. "It's not like Uncle Harry's the only one to get letters from him, after all."

Ron raised an eyebrow, curious for the first time in about a month about a letter coming from his nephew.

"You've been writing to both James _and _Bobby?"

"Well yeah," Rosie said, as if it were obvious. "James said Campbell's been underutilizing their Beaters. They don't even know what a Bludger Backbeat is! Molly's been hinting about Ravenclaw's Beater-heavy offense, too—"

"Ravenclaw? I thought Gryffindor was scheduled to play Hufflepuff first?" both of Ron's eyebrows shot up this time. "And since when have you been talking to Molly too?"

"Molly said that half the Ravenclaw team came down with a bad case of dragon pox, so the school decided to reschedule their match for March. And Molly's my cousin; of course I talk to her. She's the one who taught me how to do a decent Backbeat to begin with."

"Why are you so interested in Hogwarts Quidditch all of a sudden? And how have you found time and owls to correspond to all these people?"

"Since Bobby's been wanting to get on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and since I'm related to nearly half the team. And he and James and Molly all have their own owls; I use them. In fact, Bobby's letter's due any minute. If you're done with the interrogation, I should go wait for Leopold up in my room."

"Leopold?" Ron wrinkled his nose at the name, ignoring her jibe at his prying.

"I think it's a cute name for an owl," was all Rosie said before traipsing out of the room, on her way to her bedroom.

One glance around the room told Ron why she was so eager to escape; chessmen body parts were still strewn across the room, including Rosie's rather violent queen, who was trying to attack his shoe with the leg of her king.

"RO—_SIE_!" Ron screeched out into the hallway. "_You forgot our moral_!"

"New moral: Dads who owe their daughters favors clean up the board!"

Ron couldn't deny it (as much as he wanted to), given that he had said so himself that he owed her one. Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't try forcing this chore onto one of his other children.

"Oh Hugo…!"

* * *

**A/n**: -UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURGH!

This chapter was painful to write at times. But some of it wasn't...those wondering if it's possible to launch yourself into a bed and ram your chin on a hidden plate with a half-eaten sandwich on it...yes, it is. And it hurts. It's so much easier to write when it comes from personal experience.

And it's a sad day in the Muggle world; there are nine fics about the Sorting Hat (NINE! How do you even begin to write a fic about a freaking HAT?!), yet in all my searching I found (arguably) one about poor old Nigel Wespurt. Well, at least I include him in my fic, even if he isn't exactly all…ya know…canon. XP

Once again, happy birthday to my wonderful sister, and apologies to every single one of my wonderful fans for the long wait you had between updates. If it makes you feel any better, this chapter was slightly longer than the usual.

All right, I'm done; get on with the complaining.

~dieselwriter


	25. Takers

**A/n**: I'm not dead! :D

...

*insert acceptable apologies/unremitting groveling here*

Given the time lapse between this update and the last, you may want to re-familiarize yourself with the previous two chapters before attempting this one.

Further pleadings of forgiveness and mostly pathetic excuses can be found in the Author's Notes at the end of the chapter.

**Note**: This chapter was supposed to be out at least, oh, three months ago. Ergo, assume the setting is late February.

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 25: The (Untold and Told) Tales of Takers**

It had taken every favour ever owed to him, all the cunning strategy and spying ability he possessed, and every sycophantic and deceitful fiber of his being to reach this point in the Scabior investigation.

"Dad, it's _freezing _out here. Can't we hold a stakeout inside a cafe, _please_?"

"Dad, just a peek into Quality Quidditch Supplies. Look at that Moon Trimmer in the window; that thing has to be older than Granddad Weasley! It really should be in a museum."

And he was stuck babysitting.

"It _is _in a museum, Hugo—we saw it in the Museum of Quidditch two years ago."

"Well how am _I _supposed to remember that? I was six!"

"It doesn't matter; I'm willing to go too if it means we can get out of the cold. Please, Dad?"

"Yeah, please Dad?"

Ron shifted his balance from one numb foot to the other and stuffed his frozen fingers further into his coat. The morning would have been gorgeous, what with its bottomless blue sky and bright sunshine, if it weren't for the fact that any exposed body parts were experiencing something akin to freezer burn.

"I told you two to bundle up; it's your own faults for not listening to me."

"Yeah, but you didn't say we'd be spending an hour spying on an empty street. If that had been the case I would have brought a book."

"Or an extra three pairs of gloves."

Given the rather enormous size of his family, the fact that every single one of them (Hermione included) was unable to watch his children for an hour or two only added to Ron's frustrations.

He had _finally _gotten Nigel to slip that the father and son witnesses to Scabior's owl theft were common Saturday early-morning shoppers in Diagon Alley, Shacklebolt's subtle attempts to steer him clear of the shoplifting case all but shouted to Ron that he _knew _who these witnesses were, and Percy's utter supercilious attitude at knowing who the witnesses were, despite the fact that he was having difficulties cooperating with the father-son duo, gave Ron the motivation to seek the pair out as soon as possible to get them to talk.

And that was why, on the first free Saturday morning Ron had, he was waiting outside Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, children in tow. His plan had been to drop off his kids with whoever was opening the shop (Ron was quite familiar with all the Wheezes' employees and knew his pull with the founder of the shop would make that task quite simple) and innocently question every father and son couple he came across that looked familiar.

That plan had been blown out of the water as soon as Ron remembered the fact that Wheezes did not open until 10 a.m. on the weekend, and, if the clock hanging outside Flourish and Blotts was indeed accurate, that meant he and his children would be out in the old for at least another forty-five minutes.

"Dad, I think my ears are frostbitten. My hat's the only thing keeping them on the sides of my head."

Ron sighed, glancing down at his two sleep- and heat-deprived children before nodding his head.

"All right, a five minute respite. Then it's back to hitting the streets."

"Five minutes? That's it?"

Rosie didn't seem to have any complaints, however, as she made a mad dash across the empty street and flung the door to Quality Quidditch Supplies open in her haste for warmth. Her brother quickly followed suit, Ron trailing behind to get in one last good glance down both sides of the empty street before seeking the blissful heat of the shop.

"Oh thank Merlin," Ron moaned, taking his hands out of his pockets as soon as he entered the store to rub feeling back into them.

"Dad, come look at this broom!" Hugo exclaimed with revered awe, pointing to the Moon Trimmer on display at the front window.

"Don't touch!" his sister chastised before turning back to browse through the dozens of Beater's Bats on display.

"Like I was gonna," Hugo scowled at her before returning his attention to his father and the broomstick. "190_1_! This thing really ought to be a pile of dust by now!"

"Protected by some old, powerful spells, she is," the frail witch behind the counter piped up, coming forward to grip the roping blocking customers from reaching the broomstick. "Boothby really knew what she was doing. They don't make 'em like they used to."

"_Gladys_ Boothby? _The _Gladys Boothby?"

Ron, obviously no longer a part of the conversation, kept his eyes peeled outside the display window on the pedestrian-less streets outside.

"A boy who knows his antique Quidditch supplies! Yessir, this particular Moon Trimmer was said to have been stolen by Boothby's very own grandson. He flew it to Paris and back and when Gladys found out she nearly beat him to death with it."

Both Hugo and the shop owner sighed wistfully, the former gazing at the broom with obvious thoughts of Quidditch grandeur, the latter gliding her wizened hand over the roping separating her from the revered piece of Quidditch history.

"But I heard most of the Trimmers were lost in a fire during the first Wizarding War?"

"Ah, now that's an interesting story…"

Ron grumbled incoherently to himself, not bothering to voice his thoughts of Hugo wanting to hear a stranger prattle on about a broom as old as herself. Laughing at the small joke, Ron focused his attention instead outside the window as someone finally came into view from down the street.

Squinting through the morning rays pouring through the glass, Ron made out the forms of a man and child making their way down the cobbled road, their breaths misting in the air as they talked and pointed at some of the shops they passed by.

His eyes grew larger after catching an unhindered glimpse of the man's face.

Ron swallowed air and a painful knot settled into his chest as the memory of the last time he had seen that face surfaced to the forefront of his mind with all of the clarity the bright cold morning could reflect and all of the intensity of a Bludger to the stomach.

* * *

_You have fought valiantly._

Why Percy had his arm around Ron's shoulders Ron didn't know. Why he continued to squeeze his shoulder in a sadly foreign, brotherly gesture and continued to apologize for anything and everything Ron didn't specifically care.

_If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one._

Bill and Fleur were having a rapid French-laden conversation with someone Ron didn't recognize; Hermione, Ginny, and his father had left to heal the wounded outside the castle; and his mother and Lee Jordan were half-heartedly trying to persuade an adamant George to abandon his post at his twin's side.

Fred's eyes remained mercilessly closed.

_I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me._

It all felt wrong to Ron, somehow. Everyone here, this huge fight, all his friends, family, and enemies gathered in one place. The past year had been made up of small-scaled skirmishes he, Harry, and Hermione had barely managed to escape from. Such a massive effort to end Voldemort in one shot felt flawed, somehow.

_We've taken what you'll sorely miss._

Percy squeezed his shoulder again and Ron suppressed the urge to throw him off with a shudder. It wasn't the time nor the place for bitterness towards his brother or claustrophobia or…whatever it was he was feeling. This wasn't the time to grieve for the dead or deal with personal issues.

It was a time to treat injuries and steel oneself for the fight.

_An hour long you'll have to look_.

Because there wasn't any doubt that the fight would be picking up again soon. Ron had seen Harry catch a glimpse at the corpses belonging to Remus and Tonks. He watched silently as Harry's eyes glazed over, thoughts floating to another plane beyond this realm of grief and depression. He had left the Great Hall and Ron let him, letting his friend do what he himself wanted to do as soon as Percy had embraced him.

Yet Percy would not, _could not_, let go of his brother, and Ron didn't try to push him away. They had eventually maneuvered to the far edge of the room, able to keep most of its occupants in view while remaining inconspicuous themselves.

_And to recover what we took_.

"I'm sorry," Percy repeated himself for the umpteenth time, tears leaking from behind his cracked horn-rimmed glasses.

"It's fine."

"…Why do you keep saying that, Ron? How is this fine? How is _any _of this fine?"

Because it wasn't over yet. When it was all over, it was allowed to be ruined, awful, despicable, _wrong_.

He only wished Harry was here, hugging him like he had back in the Forest of Dean a lifetime ago. He wanted Hermione embracing him fiercely, holding him back from committing sins he would never repent.

But still, through it all, they were fine.

Harry was just missing.

"It'll _be_ fine, Perce."

_But past an hour—the prospect's black._

Bill and Fleur's conversation had been interrupted by a teary-eyed Cormac McLaggen, who was desperately seeking out a lost friend; Lavender Brown gave a loud cry as Madam Pomfrey treated the deep lacerations on her face; Draco Malfoy shouted harsh words at a bawling Gregory Goyle; and his mother gave up and collapsed, sobbing, into George's shoulder as Lee Jordan watched on helplessly.

Percy gripped his shoulder hard and held his breath; Ron's had been stolen away.

_One hour_.

The entire hall had gone mute.

Voldemort's high, cold voice reverberated off every reflectable surface; his words licked the back of Ron's neck, making him feel like he were a dead weight sinking to the bottom of the Black Lake.

"Harry Potter is dead."

He wasn't missing, then; he had been taken.

_Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.

* * *

_

Ron's old and nigh-forgotten thoughts clashed painfully with the present-day as the bell above the shop door tinkled and a young blonde boy rushed past him as fast as a Snitch. He made his way to stand beside Hugo and the shopkeeper, only interested in one piece of merchandise.

His attention momentarily diverted at the new youth, hardly older than ten years of age, Ron did not get the chance to preview the boy's father, who stole into the shop behind him, the bell above the door jingling at his entry.

"Oh, Scorpius! You're running late today, I see!" the shopkeeper gave a patient smile down at the blond child staring with a hungry kind of desire at the broomstick hanging in the window. Seeing that her remark would go unnoticed, the old witch turned to address the other newcomer into the store. "A fine morning we have for ourselves, eh, Mr. Malfoy?"

Ron blanched, turning his head to stare wide-eyed as Draco Malfoy threw the shopkeeper a smile that reflected the bitter weather outside.

"As fine a February morning in London can offer."

"Ha! So it would seem, Mr. Malfoy, so it would seem!"

The shopkeeper abandoned her post beside the broomstick to approach the elder Malfoy. Scorpius, immediately sensing the witch's attention had been diverted off of himself, stepped around the roping and grasped the handle of the Moon Trimmer.

Ron and Rosie's jaws hit the floor and Hugo watched on in amazement, but the store owner seemed not to have noticed; she instead reached a surprisingly solid hand out to shake Malfoy's hand, who accepted with a bored look on his face.

The handshake was ended abruptly and the tedium at it all washed off Malfoy's face the second he got a glimpse of the astonished Weasley standing at his side.

"What…" Malfoy only seemed to need a word and a few seconds before reaching some unspoken conclusion; he swept past the still-staring Ron to grasp the neck of Scorpius' coat and began to drag him out of the shop.

"Father!" Scorpius shrieked as the broomstick fumbled out of his grip.

The shopkeeper, only just realizing the situation, looked nearly ready to fall into a dead faint as the ancient Moon Trimmer looked just as ready to fall to its belated death. Hugo, still with that look of wonder on his face, slid on his knees under the roping to catch the broomstick just before it hit the ground.

"Oh my God!" the young Weasley's wide brown eyes stared up at his father, the surprised smile quickly slipping from his face to be replaced with panic.

Ron felt his response freeze in his throat as soon as he heard what Malfoy said just before the door slammed shut behind him and his son.

"Damn Aurors, can't mind their own business…"

The bell tinkled behind the pair of them and Ron turned to his two children. Hugo seemed to be fighting off an anxiety attack, clearly afraid a treasured piece of Quidditch lore would turn into dust right in his hands, while Rosie was attempting to calm down the unnerved shopkeeper by patting her arm sympathetically.

"Oh my _God_! Dad, what do I do?" Hugo pleaded, unmoving from his spot on the floor.

"Dad?" Rosie reiterated, recognizing her father's calculating look and readily resigned into doing whatever he told her to do.

"We're leaving," Ron said shortly in response, stepping forward to grab his son by the upper arm and hoist him to his feet.

Hugo's eyes widened so far his eyeballs were in danger of popping out of their sockets as he stumbled after his father, still carrying the broomstick in his arms.

"You too," Ron continued, clearly possessed with a plan of action, as he grabbed his daughter with his free arm and steered both of his children to the front door.

"But Da—"

"I'm sorry, we won't be purchasing this," Ron snatched the broom from Hugo's fingertips, silencing both his son's and the shopkeeper's protests as Ron returned the Moon Trimmer in her slack grip.

"Please don't come again," the store owner muttered faintly after them.

"What are we doing, Dad?" Rosie asked as the trio left the shop, the bell tinkling in their wake.

"Cornering our prey," Ron gave a rather maniacal smile in reply. "But I can't believe your Uncle Percy kept this from me! I'm only his brother after all…"

Hugo and Rosie shared an understanding glance, clearly coming to some agreement about not interrupting their father when he was in such a mood, and thus the two children followed behind their angrily muttering father. Luckily it didn't take them long to find the fair-haired father and son, hiding out in Flourish and Blotts. The three didn't hesitate as they barged into the shop, nearly knocking an elderly woman into a table stacked with books.

"Why don't you two go have a look around," Ron said seriously, oblivious to the old witch he had accosted while his eyes shifted around in search of a hint of Malfoy.

"Er, sure Dad," Rosie looked warily behind her father at the woman glaring dangerously at the three of them, as if expecting them to turn right back around for round two.

"Watch your back," Hugo grinned crookedly and pointed not-so-subtly at her before disappearing down an aisle.

At his son's suggestion, Ron turned to take in the scene. He entered a staring contest with some old hag who seemed bent on murdering him with a glare but, having had plenty of competitions with Ginny over the years, the woman was hardly any match at all. Ron shrugged and headed down the first aisle he came to as the woman left, head bowed in defeat.

With a sea of dark leather-bound books as a contrast to his light hair, finding Malfoy was a relatively easy feat, and with his nose in a book, sneaking up on him was even simpler.

"Well, well, well—Draco Malfoy."

Malfoy didn't so much as bat an eyelash despite Ron's stealth; he merely glanced over the top of his page to throw him a sneer.

"Weasley."

"Fancy finding you here," Ron continued, unperturbed at this expectantly cold reception.

"I'd fancy avoiding this conversation, actually," the ex-Slytherin returned, equally unfazed as his eyes fell back to the pages of his book.

"Ha, funny. Speaking of funny, wouldn't it be odd if you and, say, your son were to, I don't know, run into Travis Scabior in the Magical Menagerie a few weeks ago—"

"How many times do I have to tell you and the rest of your Auror cronies to leave me and my family alone?" Malfoy attempted nonchalance as he turned the page, but the effect was lost when the paper was ripped from the spine.

"You know I'm an Auror?" Ron asked bemusedly, momentarily sidetracked. He, after all, had absolutely no idea what Draco Malfoy (nor any Malfoy, for that matter) had been up to since the war had ended.

"Please. Like it was any surprise to find that you would follow in Potter's footsteps," Malfoy closed the book with a _snap_ and replaced it on the shelf with its more-intact fellows. "What would he do without his loyal dog at his side?"

Ron eyed a rather thick encyclopedia on toadstools sitting on the shelf right beside Malfoy but immediately amended his initial violent thoughts with a raised eyebrow. "So how am I supposed to take that? Because I feel mostly insulted, but also very disturbed to hear you've been keeping tabs on me, Malfoy."

Draco threw him an icy glare that had obviously been perfected over years of practice; the outside weather couldn't even begin to compete with it.

"Now don't start with that attitude," Ron warned, "I bet we can end up helping each other. You give me what I want, I get the Ministry off your arse."

Draco surveyed him a moment before inclining his head.

"I'm listening."

"That's my job. You talk. Tell me what happened with Scabior."

Malfoy pursed his lips and glanced both ways down the aisle empty of people besides them before telling his now well-rehearsed story.

* * *

"Touch nothing, Scorpius."

The boy nodded numbly before immediately dashing off for the more ominous-looking cages at the back of the Magical Menagery. Draco's eyes followed him with a twinge of disappointment. After all, when his own father had given him strict warnings prior to entering a store, he had made sure to obey them all to the letter. Scorpius, on the other hand….

The loud, unfamiliar-sounding shriek of something sounding frightfully large filled the store, but Draco didn't so much as blink while sidling over to the spacious cages holding some of the more expensive owls.

"Mr. Malfoy!" the stooping shopkeeper limped over, a wooden _clunk _sounding every alternate footstep. "Welcome, welcome! Anything I can assist you with?"

"Can't we get this one, Dad?" Scorpius shouted from the opposite end of the store, waving excitedly at a three-tailed python that was eying the young Malfoy's fingers with obvious interest. "I think he likes me!"

"I think ol' Aramis is just hoping you'll feed him, young sir," the employee answered before giving a crooked smile and his attention to the elder Malfoy. "Probably not the best pet for someone wanting to keep a hold of all their appendages."

"Definitely not," Draco sniffed, turning to the owls blinking at him from behind the bars of the cages. "Actually, Mr. Sparrowwood, we were in need of an owl—"

"_We_," Scorpius muttered dejectedly to his new snake friend, "don't have any idea what we're talking about. Aramis probably eats owls for breakfast, don't you boy?"

"There are a few time-sensitive materials I need to send out," Draco carried on over Aramis' hissed response. "Which would you recommend for speed?"

"A hawk owl would probably be the best way to go," Sparrowwood nodded his head to one of the cages housing a handsome medium-sized owl with large yellow eyes. "Won't find anything faster 'round these parts."

The bell above the shop door jingled in another customer as Draco approached the cage and peered inside at the hawk owl, who ruffled its feathers in agitation at the sudden intrusion.

"Very well," Draco nodded his head in approval, "this will do. Scorpius, come, we're leaving."

Sparrowwood beamed in approval before stumping his way to the counter. Draco made to follow, glimpsing under the hood of the cloaked customer he passed along the way.

He stopped in his tracks as the sight registered in his mind's eye; unruly hair, a pair of haunted, bloodshot eyes, the left twitching habitually—

"Dad?"

The wrenching of metal made it feel as though Aramis had constricted itself around Draco's chest, squeezing the feeling out of him. He instinctively pulled his wand and moved himself between Scorpius and the man who had just ripped the door off one of the cages and tossed it to the floor as though it were made of paper.

"OI!" Sparrowwood pulled out his wand as the cloaked man shoved the shrieking, struggling hawk owl into a sack. "Don't move!"

Draco took a cautious step backwards closer to his son while the shopkeeper advanced threateningly, but the thief didn't seem to acknowledge either of them; he breezed toward the entrance as if owl-napping were a part of his regular routine.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

The thief merely stuck out his left hand to block the spell; the Disarming Hex ricocheted off his hand and left a scorch mark where it instead hit the floor of the shop.

"The hell…?" Sparrowwood stumped forward but it was no use; the cloaked man had already made it to the door and nearly tore the hinges off in his haste to escape.

"I doubt you'll catch him," Draco muttered dryly as the shopkeeper limped across the store after the perpetrator.

"We've got Anti-Theft Hexes at the entrance," he huffed in response, obviously not bothered by the lack of help. "He's not getting away that easily."

Draco peeked outside the window to discover his words were true; the man had his feet magically burrowed into the cobbled road beneath him, rendering him unable to move.

The cloaked wizard, realizing his predicament, didn't even hesitate before slamming his left hand into the solid ground, digging his oddly shining fingers through the rock to pull his feet out. Sparrowwood froze in horror at finding him able to free himself so easily.

Draco felt a chill run up his spine as the thief looked at him through the glass window, threw him a recognizable dirtied yellow smile before turning on the spot and Apparating away.

"Bloody hell! Guess that means we'll be getting the python then, Dad?"

Scorpius had made the short journey over to his father, gazing up at him in wonder. Draco glanced down at him, at a momentary loss for words, until his son's words penetrated through his current confusion.

"OW! Dad!"

Draco made sure to pinch his son's ear extra hard as he led him toward the entrance of the shop, stepping around the completely baffled shopkeeper.

"We were never here," Draco called to him over his shoulder, ignoring the wizard's half-hearted protestations. "We _will _be visiting next week to purchase a new owl and reimburse you for the stolen one, however. Do we have an agreement, Mr. Sparrowwood?"

Considering the stark paleness of Sparrowwood's face, it didn't seem as if he would be able to handle many more surprises, but he nodded his head numbly anyway.

"As for _you_," Draco glared fiercely at the wincing son he was towing by the ear, "where did you learn such atrocious language?"

Scorpius' response fell on deaf ears as they exited the Magical Menagerie, leaving the stupefied shopkeeper in their wake.

* * *

"You didn't even try to stop him?"

"I didn't want to get involved. You can see how well that turned out."

Ron gave an exasperated sigh, rubbing his neck wearily.

"Who else has heard this story?

"My original plan of avoiding the conflict went along quite well, up until a Jarvey ratted us out to the Minister of Magic of all wizards two weeks after the incident. Since then your brother, what's his name...Peter?"

"Percy," Ron automatically corrected with another sigh, shaking his head in clarity. So _this _was the information Percy kept holding over Ron's head like a bloody carcass to a starving Thestral.

Ron made a face at that mental image and Malfoy gave him a peculiar look before clearing his throat and continuing:

"Yes, well, _he's _the only other one I've told my story to. He still insisted on hearing Scorpius' view of the ordeal, but I flat-out refused, and things have only escalated from there. He has since started to have me and my family tailed by his Ministry minions whenever we leave our home, and I have been trying my damnedest to be as uncooperative and unwelcoming to him and his brood as possible."

"He's probably trying to annoy the story out of your boy," Ron nodded sympathetically, now understanding why Draco and Percy were having such a difficult time with each other. "I am quite familiar with this tactic."

Draco gave a snort of laughter before realizing exactly who he was laughing with and stopped, causing an awkward pause before clearing his throat and continuing. "He calls it witness protection," he clarified, grimacing all the same, "but if they really wanted to protect me they'd leave us alone. I'm this close to offing myself just to spite them."

Ron snickered, again to the surprise of both and he ceased immediately. They stood in silence a beat before Ron picked the conversation back up:

"Right, well, let me talk to Percy," Ron continued on, even as he felt his ears begin to heat up. "I'll see if he can't loosen the leash a little. Just try to stay out of trouble until then, eh?"

"You're going to tell him everything I told you, aren't you?"

"Of course not," Ron replied earnestly. It was a rather sad state of affairs when his anger at Shacklebolt and Percy for leaving him in the dark would cause him to team up with a Malfoy.

"I'll just have to take your word for it, however much that goes for these days," he finally replied, his eyes narrowed on something behind Ron. "And that reminds me: you _did _realize this is a bookstore and not a library when you followed me in, yes? You have to actually _pay _for the books here."

Ron glanced behind his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the tail of a cloak whip around the end of the aisle. He grimaced before addressing Malfoy once again, "And here I thought we would be beyond such petty insults."

Malfoy gave a half-hearted sneer before walking up to him, pausing at his side to whisper, "Well, we must keep up with old appearances, haven't we Weasley? Wouldn't want anyone to think I would team up with you."

He didn't hesitate any further as he walked down the aisle with his usual Malfoy strut.

"Yeah, well, you realize Scorpius is about as stupid as a name as Draco, don't you?" Ron hollered after him, grasping at straws. "Only the Malfoy fortune will spare him from bullying at Hogwarts."

"The Malfoy fortune can do just about anything," Draco called over his shoulder with a jaunty wave, which made Ron nearly grind his teeth in frustration.

"'Cause it's so disgustingly...wealthy...." Ron fumbled a moment, searching for a suitable comeback. And when none found him, he grumbled in defeat, turning to stomp off the opposite way of his old nemesis. "_Dammit. _Rosie! Hugo! We're leaving!"

"Aw, Dad!"

"_Now_, Hugo!"

Ron turned the corner and nearly gagged at the horror he beheld. His own son—his living flesh and blood—was standing face-to-face and laughing—_laughing!_— with none other than Scorpius Malfoy.

"What are you _doing_?" Ron demanded, towering over the pair.

"C'mon, Dad," Hugo giggled, smiling far too innocently for such a dastardly deed, "just let me have a few more minutes with Scorpius!"

"Oh…oh Godric…" Ron tried to suppress the gag reflex at hearing a Malfoy's first name spoken aloud by a Weasley. The smarmy smile that was plastered on the young Malfoy's face did not help him at all. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"I mean, a Firebolt's all good and fine for your first few years at Hogwarts," Scorpius continued the conversation as if no interruption had occurred, "but if you aren't comfortable on a Spritely 100 before you graduate, you really can't get anywhere in the League."

"And he's talking..." Ron stumbled by them, heading further down the aisle, away from the indecency.

"The 100 model? By the time we're out of Hogwarts they'll be making Spritely 200s!"

"That's even assuming Spritelies will still be manufactured. I hear the Nimbuses are trying to stage a comeback."

"No way!"

Ron's escape was blocked by his daughter, nose stuck so deep in a book he feared she'd drown in it if he didn't get her out of it soon.

"Rosie, thank Merlin…" he sighed, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"_Dad_!" she shrieked in surprise, jumping out of his grip.

Scorpius and Hugo laughed suddenly and loudly, and Rosie looked over at them in bewilderment, hitherto unaware of their presence, so immersed was she in her book.

"We're leaving. Please go and collect your brother…I can't bear the sight…."

A spark of fatherly pride leapt in Ron's chest as Rose's eyes narrowed dangerously at the pair of them, no doubt recalling the blond boy's actions in the Quality Quidditch Supplies store earlier that morning.

Without hesitation she placed the book in her father's hands and stomped down the aisle, not bothering to say one word to either boy before glaring severely at the young Malfoy and grabbing her brother by the collar.

"Oi! Rosie! _You're choking me_!" Hugo gasped as she dragged him along behind her.

"Dad says we're leaving," she replied shortly, unwilling to so much as address her brother's complaints nor Scorpius Malfoy's existence. Scorpius, for his part, blinked at the pair of siblings in confusion before shrugging his shoulders and turning to leave the opposite way.

Ron beamed at the one child he was willing to claim as his own before walking out of the aisle, fully intent on hunting down an employee to buy the book his daughter had been so wrapped up in, price and Malfoys be damned.

* * *

**A/n:** So…it's…been awhile? Aaaawkwaaaaaaaaaaard…. My apologies; life sort of caught up with me. But I gotsa job now! YAY!

And (FINALLY!) nothing like a Malfoy/Weasley reunion! I know many of you were hoping for this meeting between Scorpius and Rosie to happen (FINALLY!)…not sure it went as expected for anyone. Haha, and I bet all you Scorpius/Rosie shippers didn't know your biggest competition would be Scorpius/Hugo shippers! Mwuahahaha!

And please don't fret; the next chapter is planned and just needs to be written. No months-long wait for the next chapter, with any luck. Not saying updates will be regular by any means, but it's not like I'm going on hiatus or anything (HURRAY!).

A monstrously big and warm THANK YOU! to all of my lovely reviewers who have stuck out the wait (maybe not so patiently...), and I hope this chapter lived up to and effectively murdered your expectations. I love you all!

Until next time then! ;)

~dieselwriter


	26. Givers

**A/n: **No, you are not dreaming. No, this is not some sort of hallucination. And no, I am not dead!

…Sad that this chapter's author's note and the last begin with the same exclamation. But I figured that should be the first thing I mentioned, because I'm sure some might have been worried. But fear not, try not to kill me, and rejoice, if at all possible.

As a refresher, I recommend skimming Chapters 22 and 25. Only because, after such a long break, I figured a review before reading a chapter relating to plot was necessary.

This chapter is dedicated for the faithful followers who read this and didn't give up on me, going so far as to review this story months after my last update. Your reviews were not in vain and are always the prime motivator for me to continue on through work, school, writer's block, and life in general.

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 26: The Tales of Givers**

"Well I'll be damned."

"That's not much of a greeting for an old friend," Ron gave a tired smile, taking his seat.

"This isn't much of a day to be chatting it up with an old friend."

"True," Ron replied, scratching at his ear, "we should have had this meeting a long time ago. Why didn't you ever come forward with the information you had?"

His interviewee looked uncomfortable immediately, as if hoping this sort of question would have never needed to be asked.

"You have to understand, Ron, that if I thought what I knew was pertinent to your investigation, I would have told you sooner. I had no idea…"

The woman looked even more disturbed, idly fidgeting to her pocket where her wand resided.

"No idea he was capable of this?"

"I had no idea he would go after children," she murmured, taking a deep breath. Her blue eyes bore into his, suddenly reminded of something, "How mad is he?"

"Very, but it's mostly fear-based. If I could just talk to Scabior—"

"Not who or what I meant," she interrupted, a softness to her voice.

"Then I have no idea what you're talking about."

It was Ron's turn to feel uneasy as a grin lit up her features, making the small scars across her face disappear in smile lines.

"All your mini-Aurors can't stop talking about it. You can't get too much excitement in a place like the Auror Department; your fight with Harry is the closest thing they've had to gossip since that huge scandal with Senior Auror Townsend and his house elf."

Ron begrudgingly returned her smile.

"Some things never seem to change, you know?"

"I know," she returned with confidence, "and that's why this whole thing will blow over by tomorrow."

"Here's hoping."

They sat in a relatively relaxed silence, taking in the less awkward but still highly strange predicament they found themselves in.

"You want to tell me what happened?"

Ron raised an eyebrow, not quite believing the intent behind the question.

"I thought you'd have heard all that happened already?"

"Snippets of stolen conversations does not a story make," she wagged her finger, although Ron was certain she was far more used to waving quills in peoples' faces. "All I heard in the office was 'attack', 'Hogwarts', and 'Scabior' before I was out the Floo and at your desk. I might as well get the whole scoop straight from the source."

"And wind up on the cover of the morning edition of the Daily Prophet? Fat chance."

"You know I'm merely a columnist for the evening edition," she waved her hand dismissively, even though they both knew better about her infamy as an investigative reporter. "And that's a rather unpleasant attitude to have. Here I come in, willing to help you in an investigation and thus spilling one of my deepest and darkest secrets—"

"It's your civic duty to help us—"

"—and yet I can't even get knowledge of my own family's safety—"

"—and I told _you _they were perfectly safe—"

"—and did you have to pick out the smallest and dankest room to interrogate me—?"

"—this is my _office_—!"

"Weasley!"

Both occupants of the room jumped as the only door into the room opened with a loud _bang_ and a rather intimidating Minister of Magic filled up the doorway, emanating a raw kind of power that made both witch and wizard cower in their seats.

"A word, if you please?" Kingsley held the door open and Ron scuttled out of the room. "And is there anything I can get for you, Mrs. Davies?"

"Nothing, thank you," the witch replied stiffly, rearranging herself in her seat and smoothing out her robes.

"We'll be only a moment, ma'am," he nodded at her, his rich voice not seeming to have much of an affect on her cold demeanor. "Just let us know if there's anything we can do to make you more comfortable."

"Well that sounds as though you're prepping me for questioning with a Dementor."

Kingsley nodded his head gravely, making the woman roll her eyes.

"That was a joke, Minister."

"I've found very little to laugh at today, Mrs. Davies."

"Right, sorry," she replied, looking at once as she had upon entering the room: distant and discomfited.

"He'll be right back, I promise," Kingsley bowed out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him. He then turned to the squirming Auror, looking like a dog that had been caught making something nasty on his master's carpet.

"I'm sorry—"

The Minister of Magic held up a solid hand, stopping Ron in his tracks.

"I told you I don't like this," Kingsley said sternly, and when Ron made to interrupt, he continued, "but I did agree with you that this is the best plan. After you miraculously made nice with Malfoy, I assumed you would be up to questioning a fellow classmate and Gryffindor who asked specifically for you."

Ron, who had beamed at the hidden complimenting of his diplomacy skills with Malfoy, scowled at the retraction of the praise.

"We have…a history," Ron picked his words delicately, but that was apparently the wrong choice.

"Who _don't _you have a history with in this case," the tall man shook his head, possibly regretting some of his own decisions he had made in the dealings with Travis Scabior. "And that is exactly why I _didn't _want you involved. Now play nice with her; she's the only lead we have right now."

"You want the media to know about how little we know?"

"No, but it's out, whether we like it or not. Give her what she wants…she might at least be slightly biased to our agenda."

"Anyone hoping to stop these attacks _should_ be biased to our agenda," Ron's brow furrowed at the implication that this whole mess would be the fault of the Ministry and not Scabior.

"Tell that to the reporters," Kingsley muttered, opening the door to allow Ron to continue on with his interview. "Literally."

"Right-o," Ron nodded, entering the room.

"I already did mention how I don't like this, correct?" Kingsley muttered rhetorically as he shut the door, causing Ron to grimace.

"Did I get you in trouble?" Mrs. Davies smiled a half-amused, half-guilty smile.

Ron took back his old seat, shaking his head, already displeased with his obvious lack of authority with his guest.

"No trouble, just encouragement."

"Excellent. Then that means he wants you to tell me what happened?"

She threw him a hopeful grin, and Ron rubbed the back of his neck before recounting the events that had occurred earlier in the day.

* * *

"Kill him! KILL HIM! Merlin, he's _right there_!"

"Get around him! C'MON, YOU SLOTH! MOVE YOUR BROOM!"

"Oh COME ON! That was BLATANT! How can you not call that?"

"Is it over yet?"

Five rather angry pairs of eyes glared at a sixth, who merely sighed in defeat before raising her red and gold banner and waved it half-heartedly.

"Fight, fight, Gryffindor."

Hermione's lack of enthusiasm didn't deter her family's exuberance, however; in fact, it quite possibly provided even more fuel for their fire.

"KILL 'EM! KNOCK HIM IN THE HEAD, GRADY!"

"Behind you! It's right behind you! OPEN YOUR EYES, IT'S _BEHIND_ YOU!"

"How is that not stooging? Flagherty and Morgan are both clearly in the scoring area! That's clearly stooging!"

Indeed, the crowd seemed to have likewise noticed the obvious foul and repeated chants of '_Stooging! Stooging!_' rang out across the pitch, but Rolanda Hooch, unperturbed by the audience, kept her hands on her broom and off her whistle.

"Hooch has been off her game all day," Harry mumbled, clearly displeased by the lack of adequate refereeing in the match. "Remember that botched blurting call right at the beginning? Pathetic…"

Ron couldn't deny the comment; the game had gotten decidedly dirty after the first ten minutes had elapsed without so much as a single foul called.

"Not her fault," Ron finally surmised, eying their old Quidditch instructor and referee. "She's been keeping her eyes on Davies most of the match."

Harry glanced over at the Hufflepuff Keeper, squinting to see through his glasses, even though visibility was quite good, given the cloudy conditions.

"Davies, huh?" he threw a sly grin to his friends that was not reciprocated by either.

"Shut up, Harry," Hermione and Ron said at the same time, echoing their sentiments on the subject.

"You know, she looks familiar…"

"Shut UP, Harry!" they reiterated together, causing Harry to smile wider but keep his teasing to himself.

"Who's Davies?" Hugo looked curiously between his parents, but Rose interrupted the question with an elbow to the ribs.

"Bridgette Davies, Hufflepuff Keeper," she told him but pointed out her cousin James on the pitch. "Watch this; James told me they've been practicing reverse passes all week and he just gave the signal for it."

"What's the signal?" Al called out around Hugo, unsure if he should be watching Rose or his older brother.

Rose made a complicated series of hand gestures, causing her cousin's eyes to widen in awed disbelief and her brother's to narrow in suspicion.

"Bull—"

"_Hugo_!"

"—ogna. Bologna, Mum, that's what I was going to say! Bologna…" he muttered half-heartedly, withering under the stern gaze his mother refused to relent. "Thanks a lot, Rose."

"Just watch."

"OH!"

The crowd roared its surprise when, with a sharp flick of his wrists, James sent the Quaffle in his gloved hands behind him into the waiting hands of his fellow Chaser.

"Ah hell," Hugo's muttered swear was quickly drowned out by the Gryffindor supporters' screams of delight as their Chaser aimed the Quaffle out of Davies' reach and through the Hufflepuff hoop, bringing the score to 90-70 in Gryffindor's favor.

"How did you know that was coming?" Al asked his cousin, now adopting Hugo's shrewd nature.

"I told you, he gave the signal," she answered, shrugging her shoulders as if it were no big deal, but the small twitch at the corner of her mouth said otherwise.

"There's no way he could give that signal on a broom without falling off!"

"Maybe _you _can't…"

"Da-_a_-ad!"

"I was just kidding, Hugo," Rose rolled her eyes and muttered darkly under her breath about the annoyances of having a younger brother.

"Ron?" Hermione frowned, seeing that Ron hadn't reacted in the slightest, despite hearing their son's highly grating plea for assistance.

"Do you see that?" was Ron's only reply, pointing towards the Hufflepuff Seeker. Hermione rolled her eyes; it seemed as though he were, in fact, engrossed in Davies once again.

"Do we _have _to bring her up again?" Hermione said under her breath, clearly not wanting Harry to overhear and badger them about it more.

"Not that," Ron muttered, eyes narrowed as he kept his finger pointed at the solitary object of his interest.

"You see the Snitch?" Harry bobbed excitedly, searching the skies for the glittering, winged sphere.

He frowned at finding the hawk owl Ron was focused on, flying steadily from behind Davies and moving onward toward the center of the pitch.

"What the hell? How'd it get through the barrier?"

"Harry," Ron didn't take his eyes of the owl, nor the package it was transporting, "_that's it_!"

"What's it?" Harry questioned, not liking at all the horrified expression in his best friend's wide blue eyes.

"Scabior."

The word sunk into Harry's mind, and he was unable to avoid spouting the first thought his subconscious provided at the idea.

"Bull—"

"_Harry_!"

"—der. Boulder. You know, the bologna thing made more sense."

As his family laughed at Hermione's subsequent rebuking, Ron's mind was working blindingly fast, piecing together all the subtle clues that had been carefully laid, only seeing them now with the appearance of the painfully familiar hawk owl.

The Gryffindors decked out in red and the Hufflepuffs, yellow. The words written in Scabior's second threat in paralleling red and yellow. Hooch's slack demeanor throughout the match. The hawk owl that Ron had seen so vividly in a memory supplied by a whinging Draco Malfoy. The very same hawk owl now flying to the outstretched arm of the Quidditch referee. The very same hawk owl stolen by one Travis Scabior.

"Al, Al…give it to me…"

Al looked taken aback at his uncle's outburst, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Uncle Ron?"

"The whistle, Al, the whistle! Let me have it!"

Still looking confused and slightly frightened at the panic in his uncle's eyes, Al removed the bright purple whistle hanging around his neck and handed it over.

Not skipping a beat, Ron put the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' Whistle ('Guaranteed to be ten times shriller than a Mandrake's cries without the lethal side-effects!') to his lips and blew as hard as he could.

Everyone in their section covered their ears with their hands immediately, some cursing and others glaring in their direction, but Ron ignored them all. He was pleased when progress of the match was momentarily halted as Gryffindor and Hufflepuff players turned in confusion to Madam Hooch, having assumed that she had finally called a penalty.

Momentarily distracted by the fact that their referee was otherwise preoccupied with untying a package from an equally unexpected owl, Ron cupped his hands and, knowing he looked supremely stupid but again not particularly caring, he called out at the top of his lungs.

"_JAMES SIRIUS POTTER_!"

His only stroke of luck was that his nephew was close enough to hear him and fly over to him, looking slightly perplexed and far more embarrassed.

"Uncle Ron? What the hell?"

Hermione, for her part, did not scold her nephew's inappropriate language; she was looking rather frightened between him and her husband, unsure of what was happening but knowing something was wrong.

"Give me your broom."

Ron's command was ill-received.

"What? No!"

"James, we don't have time—"

Ron paled considerably as Hooch finally freed the owl of its burden and, not hesitating for a moment, promptly dropped it.

"Holy—" Harry couldn't complete a thought, finally seeming to catch on to the truth and severity of the situation, staring at the plummeting package and then at Ron.

"Fine—FINE! James, just catch it!" Ron shouted desperately, pointing a now shaking hand to the parcel that James was now eying suspiciously. "Catch it before it hits the ground and bring it back to me! Carefully!"

James apprehensively glanced at him a second more but, seeing the pure gravity of what was happening in his uncle's intense gaze, he chased off after the rapidly descending package that Ron knew, without a shadow of a doubt, contained the life of every person in attendance.

"Oh my god," Hermione covered her mouth with one hand while grasping blindly for her daughter.

"What's going on?" Hugo's eyes were wide with fear, knowing his parents far too well to know that there was something acutely wrong.

"Mum?" Rosie's eyes filled with uncertain tears as her mother held onto her tightly, terror tightening in her chest and making her feel sick.

Ron remained resolutely still, watching his nephew make the dive, it felt, in slow-motion. An arsenal of spells flew through his mind to slow down the progression of the parcel, but he had absolutely no faith in his ability to hit the target and not James.

"Al…Al!" Harry said in a hoarse voice, needing both of his sons to be in his arms but only able to have one. "C'mere."

Al was at his side in a heartbeat, watching his brother closely and feeling unwillingly and unbearably anxious for him, even if he had no idea why.

"What's going on?" Hugo reiterated, but he was again denied an answer as his mother grabbed onto him as well, sandwiching a compliant Rosie in between.

The game had come to a near standstill, the only action coming in the form of a lone Hufflepuff Chaser trying desperately to evade both Bludgers. The crowd had likewise been silenced, all curious to determine the outcome and importance of a Gryffindor Chaser catching a falling parcel out of the air.

"Catch it," Ron whispered, unable to tear away from the sight of his nephew taking both hands off his broom to reach for the falling object, fingertips brushing the edges. "Come on, James, _catch it_."

The audience roared its approval seconds later as, a mere five meters from the ground, James caught up the small parcel and broke out of his dive with the grace expected of a Chaser that had only moments ago pulled off a perfect reverse pass.

"Merlin," Ron's voice quaked, knees feeling as though they had been replaced with Jelly Slugs. "Thank Merlin."

The crowd's cheering died down to the point where it was merely polite applause as James returned, the box held as gingerly as possible under one arm.

"You're amazing, James," Ron croaked, holding his hands out to receive the parcel from his nephew. "That was absolutely amazing."

"What is it?" he asked, blushing modestly at the praise.

Ron wrapped his long arms around the box, hugging it to himself as he slowly but steadily sank into the seat beneath him. Harry didn't hesitate to jump forward and collect his oldest son in a very awkward hug.

"Dad! DAD! Everyone can _see_ us!" James bellowed, appalled, as though the loving gesture was a fate worse than the one that had nearly occurred.

"Ron, what do we do?" Hermione asked, being one of the few people who understood that there was still an immediate threat in the form of the volatile box resting on her husband's lap.

"Evacuate," was his answer, perspiration dampening his forehead. "Contact the Ministry; they'll want to search around."

"They won't find anything," Hermione said quietly, eyebrows furrowing in thought. "He'll be long gone."

"Probably, but he might have left something behind to Trace him with, other than this damned thing," he smiled weakly, gesturing to the item he was holding. "You really need to start evacuating everyone."

"At least let me put a protective charm—" she held up her wand, but Ron shook his head defiantly.

"It might be sensitive to magic," he explained, holding it tighter still to his chest. "Just leave it."

"Then I'll wait with you—"

"Please," his earnest gaze fell onto Hugo and Rosie, and he doubted he had ever seen either look more baffled in their lives. "Please, Hermione, just get everyone out of here."

Tears rimmed her eyes and she bit her lip, but nodded as she leaned forward to kiss him soundly.

"I love you," she blurted as she stood, casting a Patronus she prayed would reach the Minister of Magic first before collecting her children.

"Love you too," he said, feeling that if he said more he might be ill. Holding a box filled with Exploding Potion was definitely a confidence deflator.

"James," Harry ordered his oldest son, who was still red in the face from embarrassment, "round up the teams and head back to the castle. And Al, go with your cousins," he urged Al to follow after Hugo before turning to Ron. "That was some fast thinking."

Ron didn't miss the condescending tone of his best mate's voice.

"Thanks…" he said suspiciously, watching every stiff move.

"How much potion do you reckon is in that thing?" Harry eyed the box, not looking nervous in the slightest despite his close proximity.

"Enough to take out half the pitch, at least," Ron said, trying to ignore the sensation of a trickle of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.

"Half the pitch," Harry repeated, and Ron definitely didn't appreciate the blithe indifference to the predicament. "So you decided to order _my son_ to fetch it instead of fly as far away as possible from it?"

The uncharacteristically mean look behind the harsh question caused Ron to hesitate with a response.

"It was the only way," he finally answered unsteadily. "We didn't have any time—"

"Bullshit!" he hissed, a dangerous look behind his lenses that Ron didn't like to see aimed at him. "Would you have sent Rosie or Hugo after it?"

Harry and Ron remained immovable, watching each other as if seeing each other clearly for the first time.

"I didn't even think—"

Harry snorted without any mirth at that response and Ron swallowed the rest of his sentence to try a different tactic.

"What would have me do?"

"Oh, I don't know," Harry cast his sight around them, as if signifying the plethora amount of possibilities that had been available to him. "Did you even _think _of using a wand?"

"Can we _please _have this conversation later, when I'm not holding a box full of explosives?" Ron pleaded, unable to take his friend's anger on top of all that had happened in the past five minutes.

"We've got time," Harry replied, crossing his arms.

"We don't," Ron shook his head to deny the comment. "Kingsley would want us to evacuate. And someone needs to deal with Hooch."

Harry's mouth worked furiously, as if wanting to retaliate, but he ultimately came up short. It was hard to argue, after all, with the truth; their old Quidditch referee was slumped on her broom, eyes glossy and unrelenting to the players bombarding her with questions. He didn't say another word before he was barking out orders to the grumbling crowd.

* * *

"Wow," Mrs. Davies was all frowns by the end of the story. "What kind of guy gets angry over the fact that everyone was saved?"

"Harry's never been famous for his infallible logic," Ron grimaced.

"That would've been Hermione, right?"

Ron did not look up to see the expression she was wearing, but he could certainly envision it in his head.

"I'm pleased to hear Bridgette did well, though," she continued when she did not receive a response. "Sounds like the match would have gone down to the Snitch if it hadn't been interrupted."

"Most likely," he said, placing his chin in his hand as he adopted a bored look. "Are we going to get down to the reason as to why we're really here now?"

The blond witch shifted in her seat, trying to get comfortable on the chair she had been occupying for most of the afternoon.

"Where do I start?"

Ron was taken aback at her sudden meekness.

"Tell me about you, first. Where you were and what you were up to before your encounter."

"It was right after the war," she recounted, keeping her eyes trained to a scorch mark on the tabletop standing between them. "I was healing from my injuries," she indicated the scars that were barely visible on her face, "and my parents were still abroad.

"They hurt like hell," she continued, gesturing once more at her face, "but it wasn't anything I needed to stay in St. Mungo's for, so I rented out a flat in London."

"By yourself?" Ron frowned, knowing first-hand how hard wizards and witches alike had it in the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War.

"I tried to go home, but it wasn't…there. The Death Eaters had gotten to it," she shrugged, looking sad. "Parvati would stay over sometimes, but she was at St. Mungo's more, taking care of Padma.

"It wasn't a great flat, in an even worse part of town, but it was all I could afford until Mum and Dad got back. I started working at some small café, mostly biding time until everything settled down. That's…pretty much all that was happening with me."

"It's good," Ron said, trying to infuse as much empathy as he could into his words, "you're doing really good, Lavender."

Lavender Davies nodded dully, no doubt upset at digging out the lonely memories she had tried her hardest to bury so long ago.

"Tell me about the night you met Travis Scabior."

His ex-girlfriend swallowed dryly before continuing on.

* * *

The only thing Lavender Brown hated more than working the late shift at The Espresso Bar was the ill-fitting uniform she wore. Her trousers were uncomfortably tight around her arse and incredibly loose at her ankles, not to mention the fact that her shirt was a size too small. Most of her male customers didn't complain, however, so she never bothered with trying to change it.

One thing she would have to complain about was the severe lack of lighting on her street. Sure, she was a witch and only a spell away from brightening her surroundings, but Muggles should have the common courtesy of not having to bumble about in the dark.

She kept to the sidewalk, left hand on the brick wall beside her, fingering the roughened surface and wondering vaguely if her annoyance with the lack of lighting on the street would be enough motivation for her to actually hunt down whoever was in charge and demand it be rectified.

"Hey lassie," the slur of a dark voice nearby made her jump, "it's a little late to be wandering around alone, innit?"

She didn't stop, but rather increased her speed while her right hand fished around in her purse for her hidden wand. It was times like these that she thought she should have just ignored the suggestive 'What's that in your pocket?' question rather than stow away her only means of defense.

Up ahead, a body sagged off the bricks, blocking access to her front door.

"Let me walk you home," the man in the oversized coat leered at her in the dark, and she stumbled to a halt, hand still searching for the handle of her wand.

"No thank you," her voice sounded pathetically weak. She cleared her throat before continuing. "It's just up ahead."

Her eyes darted to her door but the stranger didn't take the hint.

"I meant _my _home."

"I beg your pardon!" Lavender found her anger reassuring, although finally pulling her wand out of her bag to aim at her would-be assailant was also a definite comfort.

"_Ahh_," he didn't look the least bit confused or worried, which Lavender didn't take to be a good sign. "I'll be takin' that."

"_Stupe—_"

"_Expelliarmus_!"

The second unfamiliar voice had startled her, but the loss of her wand and purse to the newcomer worried her far more. The man had followed her from behind and was now holding all of her belongings in his silver left hand, which was a shining beacon to the darkened street. How she hadn't noticed the added light felt like a kick in the stomach when she was already down.

"Let's go," the new man had a wild mane of hair and she vaguely recognized him from the _Prophet_, he having been one of the many Death Eaters that had avoided capture by the Ministry.

"_You _can go," Lavender hadn't forgotten her old problem, who was still standing at her stoop and watching her with hungry eyes that made her more frightened than she cared to admit. "I wanna play."

Her hands were shaking as the man with shortly cropped hair advanced on her, and she backed up several steps, eyes darting between him and the wizard holding her wand.

"That's not the plan," the second arrival's eyes shone eerily in the light emitted from his hand.

"Forget the plan," her knees were shaking as the first pulled out his own wand, pointing it right at her chest. She momentarily despised her internal thought processes when they determined that, had the situation been completely different, she would have found him attractive with his dark eyes and strong chin.

"Forget it, Hatch," the ex-Death Eater approached her from the back, as if trying to claim her first. She shivered at the thought. "We've gotta meet back up in ten."

"I'll be quick."

Lavender's eyes grew impossibly wide and she prayed that she could somehow disappear into the brickwork at her back.

"I ain't kiddin', Hatch."

"Neither am I."

The two wizards stared at each other before Lavender made her choice.

"OI!"

And she found herself flat on her back in the middle of the road, desperate to fight off tears. Her attempt to escape had gone very poorly indeed.

"I like a fighter!" Hatch bore upon her, much like a hunter its prey. He stooped over her, the lust in his eyes evident as his dirty and calloused hand feathered the exposed skin at her midriff.

"Stop! _Please_!" she shrieked, begging him. Her eyes squeezed shut when her attacker's hands did the opposite of her wishes and stroked her face, wiping her tears away.

"Hatch—"

"Sod _off_, Scabior!" Hatch shouted down his partner's words, and his fingers gripped her hair tightly. His moist, putrid breath caressed her ear as he whispered. "You'll be fun, I can tell—"

He stiffened suddenly before collapsing on top of her. The Body Bind spell she hadn't fully been aware of being under lifted, and she struggled as she elbowed Hatch off of her.

"Get out of here," Scabior muttered to her as he approached the pair, lowering his wand and looking as if he almost regretted his actions.

Lavender didn't need telling twice: Hatch was stirring at her side and that was all the incentive she needed. Shaking, she sprinted down the road, in the opposite direction of her flat. She could hear the loud argument and feel the magic as angry spells were cast behind her but she never stopped or slowed.

* * *

Lavender had told her story unblinkingly, staring hollowly the entire time at the tabletop. Ron found it hard to come up with any reasonable words to say to her.

"Does that help you at all?" she finally asked him after they had remained silent for several minutes, digesting what she had said. "Please tell me it helps."

"Did you notice…" Ron stared into her eyes and pursed his lips nervously at the imploring look she gave him. "This is going to sound stupid, but I need to know: did Scabior have a…a hand, under the silver one?

Realizing that what he had asked had practically nothing to do with all that she had just told him, he was surprised when she answered with very little venom in her voice.

"If that's what you wanted to know why didn't you just ask me that?"

The hurt in her voice, however, was far worse than hearing her snipe at him.

"I wanted to know all of it!" Ron amended quickly. "You have no idea how many holes you've filled in for us. I just wanted some clarification with the last one, that's all."

She rewarded his honesty with a half smile and a nod.

"Yeah, the silver hand was like a glove on top of his real hand," she said. "But how does that help at all?"

"Because saving you and fighting a dark wizard in the process," Ron replied, feeling morbidly pleased as the pieces of Scabior's history finally fell into place, "was his stressor. That spell on his hand revolted that night by removing his real hand when Scabior revolted by saving you. He was never the same after that night. It all makes sense now."

"Gross," Lavender statement didn't match the genuine smile she supplied, seemingly pleased to provide whatever help she could. "So where do we go from here?"

Ron rubbed his tired eyes, images of his irate best friend flooding his vision momentarily.

"We wait for his next note."

* * *

**A/N**: *reads last chapter's author's note*

…

Yeah, I suck. I'm an awful person. I'm a liar. I've also moved, gone back to school, and started two new jobs. This chapter has been in my mind consistently during all of it, even though severe writer's made it a very slow process.

I am still rather pathetic, though, and appreciate your patience. Thank you all, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was formatted a tad differently than normal, but I like mixing it up every now and then. Considering Lavender Davies nee Brown is involved, how much can be enjoyed is up to debate. I liked writing her, though, the sassy pants that she is.

Unsure as to when to expect another update. That doesn't necessarily bode well, but it's better than a blatant lie of a quick update only to not have it come (*cough*never again*cough*). If anyone wants to chip in a request for a flashback in a review it may help with the creativity process.

And that's all I've got for now. I've missed you all though and hope you are doing well and are feeling a bit forgiving.

~dieselwriter

P.S.: This would have been up like two weeks ago, but apparently my unanticipated hiatus messed with my ability to post anything. Hopefully you are not experiencing the same difficulties.


	27. Inaction

**A/n**: Time for a multiple choice quiz! The correct answer is located at the author's note at the end of the chapter.

Which of the following is true?

A. Dieselwriter finds it convenient to finish a chapter when half of it was written a year and a half ago.  
B. Dieselwriter is excessively excited about the new movie (OUT TONIGHT! SQUEE!)  
C. Dieselwriter has a joint account called fuzzy oranges with her sister where they write Criminal Minds fanfics.  
D. Dieselwriter was accepted into pharmacy school.

Before we begin, I'd like to direct newer readers to the previous chapter before attempting this one. This makes absolute zero sense without it. Well, maybe not _zero _sense. Perhaps two sense? Three, tops. You may also want a glancy-glance at the flashbacks in Chapters 8-10 if you're bored, only because this chapter's flashback makes reference to them.

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 27: The Tale of Inaction**

"You should go talk to him."

"Me? You're the oldest! _You _talk to him."

"But this is a guy problem. He needs a good man-to-man talk."

"I'm nine. Boy-to-man talks are not nearly as useful in this situation."

"A good father-son chat should do it then."

"But this is about his _feelings_. I think you would be more sensitive to his problem."

"If I get a vote," a gruff voice called out over the sibling whisperings, "I'd prefer a good father-children talk, if you don't mind me saying."

Hugo and Rose looked at each other in surprise before glancing around the corner to find their father at the kitchen table, looking at the pair of them with both eyebrows raised.

"Hi Daddy!" Rose spoke up in a chipper voice, hoping an optimist's attitude might inject the same pleasant feelings into her father. "You look different. Did you do something with your hair? I like it!"

"He looks like he hasn't bathed in three days," Hugo muttered, and Rosie promptly elbowed him in the gut. "What?" he retaliated. "He smells!"

"_Hugo_!" she elbowed her brother harder. She knew as well as he did that their father appeared out of sorts, but she wasn't about to tell _him_ that. Perhaps a father-daughter conversation would have been a better idea after all.

Ron couldn't hide a smirk and folded his _Daily Prophet _to lay it to the side of the table.

"I showered yesterday, I'll have you know."

"But did you use soap? _Hey_!" whined Hugo, as his sister hit him a third time.

"Is Uncle Harry still mad at you?" Rosie decided to get to the root of the problem, before Hugo could possibly make things any worse.

"Doubtful," Ron stretched, wincing as his shoulders popped.

"But he's avoiding you," Hugo frowned, not understanding the logic. "We haven't even seen him since…you know…." He glanced at his shoes to avoid mentioning the incident at Hogwarts last month.

"That's usually the way things work with us," Ron answered, shrugging off the nearly fatal event. "One of us gets mad at the other for a few hours, a day tops, and then we brood for a month or two."

"A month or two?" Rosie looked incredulous. "Why don't you just go talk to him now?"

"It's his fault," Ron folded his arms defiantly, looking very much like his son when told there would be no playing until school assignments were finished.

"So," Rosie replied, looking very much like her mother, "instead of talking out your problems, you're going to avoid them?"

"I'm not avoiding anything," Ron defended himself, not liking where this conversation was going at all. "I'm merely…waiting for it to come to me."

"Can we look up the definition of avoidance?" Hugo smirked, joining his sister in a nearly impenetrable impression of his parents.

"What we _can _do, if you two would quit giving me those looks, is play football, _if _we drop this conversation and never speak of it again."

Rosie's hands remained defiantly on her hips, but Hugo seemed to waver.

"Hugo," she muttered out of the corner of her mouth, "don't give it up now. We almost have him!"

"But how often does he want to play football?" Hugo looked to her desperately. His father had never been a great fan of the Muggle sport. "Come on, we can lecture him later!"

"But how often do we _get _to lecture him on something?"

"I've an idea!" Hugo's eyes lit up with devious amusement. "We'll play football _after _he tells us a story about what great friends he and Uncle Harry are."

"That sounds more like a punishment for us."

"But it'll make him learn his lesson. The sooner they patch things up, the sooner we'll get to see Al and Lily again!"

"And _what _will a story about his and Uncle Harry's friendship teach him exactly?"

"I dunno, I just wanna play football!"

"That was a bribe, Hugo!"

"I know it, and I want it!"

"Two options," Ron rose to put an end to the miniature row. "Option One: I'll give you a story, all right, but it'll be one about where doing nothing is the best thing for a situation. Option Two: Drop the subject and play football."

"Football it is, then!" Hugo grinned widely as he sprinted out of the room in search for his trainers.

"I knew this was a bad idea," Rosie mumbled as she followed her brother out of the kitchen.

Ron sat back at the table, sighing as he ran a hand through his already tousled hair.

* * *

He couldn't sleep.

Something creaked ominously in the old house, and Ron snuggled deeper into his sleeping bag, wincing as his injured knee twinged. His back wasn't feeling particularly fantastic either, given the only thing separating him from the hard wooden floor was the thin material of his sleeping bag.

But these weren't the reasons he was up so late. Ron shifted on his side to look at Hermione, situated atop the sofa cushions he had bullied her into sleeping on. She looked peaceful and he was quite happy to see it; today had been insane for all of them.

He turned to his other side, sneaking a peak at Harry's sleeping form. Ron smiled to see his mate barely visible above the mouth of the sleeping bag, drooling lightly on his pillow. It made Ron feel better to see him without worry lines creasing his face.

There was another creak somewhere outside of the drawing room of Grimmauld Place and Ron situated himself to stare at the shadowy ceiling, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

_Now I know why Hermione didn't want to sleep by herself tonight_, Ron thought as he caught a glimpse of a small, dark, eight-legged something hiding in the midst of the cobwebs decorating the dark yet elegant chandelier hanging above him. He gave an involuntary twitch and stared at the spot of ceiling directly above him, to keep the possible-spider in his line of sight without staring at it directly.

Thus keeping the source of a potential panic attack within his peripheral vision, Ron gazed at the dark shadows dancing across the ceiling and reflected on the relative nightmare that had been that night.

And how big of a failure he had been to Harry and Hermione.

The spider-shaped blob remained stationary for the next few minutes and Ron breathed a minor sigh of relief, feeling more confident about the thing being dead.

_Ron, turn out the lights_.

That was all the help he was to them tonight. Death Eaters had attacked and he had been too busy trying to choke down that God-awful Muggle cuppa-thing-oh Hermione had ordered for him to notice. Mind, that really had left a rather nasty aftertaste in his mouth, but to be so preoccupied with that and Hermione as to ignore such a looming threat….

He shifted, pulling his arms out to rest them behind his head, greatly annoyed. That wasn't entirely true, after all. The sheer absurdity of Muggle culture and, more importantly, Hermione did seem to occupy the forefront of his mind, but the welfare of his family had definitely been sitting sidecar tonight.

_We know what's going on_! _Voldemort's taken over the Ministry, what else do we need to know_?

How about if his family was safe? Apparently not high on the list of priorities of their group…but Ron shook that idea out of his head. Of course Harry and Hermione would be concerned about his family. It was stupid to think otherwise. They had just been thinking logically about their situation, while he, as expected, had not.

_Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched_.

But it still hurt, someplace deep inside his gut, remembering the fear and the 'hope for the best, expect the worst' attitude he had been sporting tonight in regards to news about his family. He hoped they were sleeping better than he was right now.

His back aching and fully convinced now, after fifteen minutes of immobility, that the spider on the ceiling was in fact dead, Ron turned on his side and came face-to-face with a wide awake Hermione.

Heart beat back up to impending spider attack rate, he watched her unblinkingly, entranced by her sleepy brown eyes shining out of the darkness.

_That's Dolohov_.

Where any normal reader of _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches _would either attempt something romantic or at least a word of comfort, the only thing Ron could think to whisper to her was, "I didn't kill him."

"Who?"

"Dolohov."

Hermione didn't seem annoyed at being woken up to participate in an absurd conversation, just confused.

"I know. We modified his memory."

"I mean before. When we were getting Harry out of Little Whinging. Dolohov was the Death Eater I thought I killed."

Understanding flooded Hermione's eyes and she didn't look the least bit tired now.

"I'm glad then," she whispered in reply.

"He could've hurt you, though," Ron said, his thoughts clearly torn on the matter. Of course he didn't want to have killed Antonin Dolohov that night, earlier this summer. But there was no doubt in Ron's mind that Dolohov would have killed all three of them tonight if he had had the chance. "I could have prevented tonight's attack—"

"If it hadn't been Dolohov it would've been someone else, possibly someone worse."

They sat in silence as Ron pondered that bit of information.

"If you hadn't've been there tonight, Harry and I would have had to kill them both. There's no way we would've been able to do a Memory Charm."

"It was lucky I was there then," she answered with a small smile, but she shifted in her sleeping bag, clearly trying to find a way to truly respond to his dilemma. "You would have found a different way, Ron. You're not a murderer. Neither is Harry. Is that why you were so preoccupied?"

"One of the reasons," Ron grumbled into his pillow. So she _had _noticed how worthless he had been tonight.

"I'm sorry," she amended, knowing immediately that she had hit a sensitive topic. "I wasn't thinking. I know you're—what's that look for?"

"Sorry," it was Ron's turn to apologize as he wiped the smirk off his face. "I didn't think I'd ever live to see the day where you'd not think."

"Oh, ha ha," Hermione scoffed, but seeing how pleased Ron was with the idea she replaced her scowl with a tired smile.

They sat in relative silence for a few moments, still watching each other, waiting for the other person to show a sign of wanting to sleep.

"I'm sorry," Hermione finally repeated, breaking the silence.

"Hm?" was his less than intelligible remark.

"For earlier, when I cut your knee. Everything was just happening so fast and I—" where Ron expected her to continue rambling, she stopped herself to take a breath, "I panicked, I suppose."

"It's okay. It doesn't hurt." She gave him a disbelieving look and he added, "Much."

She gave him a small grin as she somehow shifted deeper into her blankets while still remaining visible.

"You're not cold, are you?"

"No," she said, but she averted her eyes.

"What's wrong then?"

She looked him straight in the eye, and he tensed under her scrutiny.

"Is something bothering you?" she blurted out.

"I thought that was what I was asking?"

They shared a secret smile before she moved to sit flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

"If you're worried about your family, I want to know. If you're scared about…the war, I want to know."

He knew what she was getting at and realized he had indeed terrified her with his talk of murdering Dolohov. But why shouldn't she be concerned about how easy talk of murder had become for him; they had both seen how killing Dolohov had affected him before when it was an accident, yet he had practically volunteered to do it tonight. Perhaps they were both simply masochistic: he for doing this to himself and she for sticking around to witness it.

"You promised me."

He glanced over at her face, but she kept her eyes resolutely above her, glaring at the chandelier as though it had broken a promise to her rather than he.

"He killed my uncles."

She kept her attention above her but answered him.

"You want to kill him because of that?"

"No. I don't want to kill him at all. Doesn't mean we shouldn't've though."

"D-doesn't it?"

It felt as though a draft had swept through the room, causing a chill to settle down in their tired bones. Ron watched as her gaze focused on something he was certain wasn't there, something intangible that he wouldn't be able to grasp without her maddening intellect.

"We're in a war."

She flipped over to watch him again with flooded eyes, not bothering to deny the obvious truth.

"He tried to kill you. I can't just let people who want to hurt you walk away freely, Hermione."

"It's not your job to protect me from the world, Ron."

Well, to some degree Hermione's claim held truth. He _had_ been her primary instigator and number one partner in rows over the years, after all. And it was a good thing his job wasn't to protect her, because he could have been fired on numerous occasions; as he seemed to recall she had spent a decent amount of her second year and the end of her fifth year term boarded up in Hogwarts' Hospital Wing.

But that didn't mean he couldn't try. He had been trying for the better part of six years, ever since they had become friends, really, to protect her. From Malfoy, from Snape, from Umbridge, and from that scumbag McLaggen…. He could even remember heaving up a number of slugs to shield her from Malfoy's insults.

That's what he'd been doing since they had become friends nearly six years ago. Mind, he had probably inflicted more pain on her than anyone else, but when push came to shove, he had always been there to shield her.

He looked over to her, not really sure how he was going to respond, only to find that he didn't have to. She was already fast asleep once again, breathing slowly and deeply.

He smiled and watched her for a while, finding comfort in watching the curls cascading around her face shift whenever she would dig her face a little further into her pillow.

Something indiscernible shifted in the air around him and he frowned, lying on his back to determine why he was suddenly feeling on edge.

His answer came in the form of the spider he had taken for dead, which was rapidly descending upon him, suspended in midair by the thinnest silvery thread.

"Bloody _hell_!" his exclamation was surprisingly meek and he ducked his head as the spider fell onto his pillow, looking more like a droplet of ink on the fabric in the darkness of the drawing room.

Ron scrambled away, getting tangled up and dragging the blanket along with him.

"_Incendio_!"

His pillow was engulfed in flames a moment later, and Ron watched on in blank surprise as Harry rubbed his eyes, not looking altogether awake nor alert despite the fact he had cast a rather dangerous spell.

"Thanks," Ron eventually responded in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, which only came after most of his pillow had been reduced to ashes.

Harry's reply was nothing more than a half-snore as he rolled over in his sleeping bag like a giant caterpillar, his fingers still wrapped loosely around his wand. Ron had to admit that his reflexes, even the subconscious ones, were frighteningly good.

He rose his eyebrows in further surprise a moment later when a new pillow plopped on top of the remains of his old one. Hermione looked at him in undeniable bleary-eyed amusement, nudging the pillow closer to him as if to entice him to use it.

He reached forward to take it and brushed her hand, instantly feeling her warmth spread into him like a pillow infested with acromantulas getting the Harry treatment.

She kept her hand where it was, blinked heavily, and silently reached out for his. Ron swallowed, feeling his heart attempting to pound out of his chest as her eyes closed. He held onto her hand even after she fell asleep, rubbing his thumb over her smooth knuckles, wondering if she had been fully aware of taking his hand or if it had been some sleep-induced attempt at comfort from the only nearby source.

He still couldn't sleep, but at least now he had more positive thoughts keeping him awake.

* * *

"Dad!"

"What now?"

"You can't touch the ball with your hands!" Rosie looked exasperated as she tried explaining the rules of football once more to her father.

"But Hugo was holding it two seconds ago," Ron whined, hiding his mischievous smile while placing the ball back on the ground.

"That's because I'm keeper!" Hugo hollered over at him. "Honestly, Dad, this isn't all that different from Quidditch."

"Apart from the fact that it's incessantly dull," Ron mumbled, clumsily dribbling the ball forward in an attempt to get a shot on goal.

Rosie sprung forward and easily blocked her father's advance. However, she kicked the ball too hard and it sailed beyond the bench marking out-of-bounds.

"There you go, Dad, your throw in."

"So now I'm allowed to touch it?" Ron panted as he jogged to the ball, picking it up in his hands. "This game makes no sense."

"DAD!" both children laughed in dismay when their father carried the ball rugby-style in bounds to the goal, depositing it in while Hugo held his sides in laughter.

"So I win now, right?"

"I surrender," Hugo sat on the grass, wiping the perspiration from his brow with a chuckle.

"You are hopeless," Rosie hiccupped, unable to stop smiling.

A loud _Crack! _cut the air like a gunshot, making all three Weasleys stare up at their house in confusion.

"Was someone supposed to stop by the house today?" Rosie asked her father.

"I'll go check it out," Ron replied. "You two stay here. It's probably just Mrs. Puckle's car backfiring again."

Both children shrugged their shoulders, knowing that the only thing around older than Mrs. Puckle herself was her ancient automobile.

Ron made the short hike to the house and froze as the sound of broken glass could be heard. He sprinted towards the source of the noise but was a moment too late; another _Crack! _echoed up and down Knightstone Drive and Ron found his front yard deserted. Turning towards his house he could easily see the broken kitchen window.

Knowing his wand was sitting on his bedroom dresser, Ron cautiously made his way up the porch steps, stepping over the one that creaked regularly. Opening the front door slowly, Ron gave the deserted street one more glance before entering.

The house appeared as empty as he had left it, but Ron ventured slowly into the kitchen anyway, eyes and ears alert to every sight and sound.

He stepped over the glass on the kitchen floor, noticing nothing out of the ordinary except for a small object on the floor.

A dark, dead weight sunk into the pit of his stomach as he kneeled beside the object, disgusted and horrified with its aching familiarity.

Tied to the brick in the middle of Ron Weasley's kitchen was a simple note, tidily written in black ink:

_Release the followers of the Dark Lord and no one will be harmed._

* * *

**A/n**: Anybody else get freaked out by that scene in DH Part 1 where Dolohov's just laying there and Ron's being particularly murdersome? Hmm…

And speaking of DH…WHO'S READY FOR TONIGHT? WAHOOOO! MIDNIGHT RELEASE OR BUST!

(I am very excited for this, as if you couldn't tell.)

I hope you all enjoy this pre-Deathly Hallows Part 2 treat. I am very much hoping this movie will bring me more inspiration for future chapters. LONG LIVE POTTER, and LONG LIVE TALES!

~dieselwriter

**P.S.**: How did I get up to 27 chapters already? I have never written anything this long in my entire life!

**P.P.S.**: Answer to multiple choice test: E. All of the above! (It was a trick question)


	28. Action

**A/N**: Am I pathetic? Yes, yes I am. Am I updating? Hell yes I am! I don't even know if anyone still reads HP fanfics anymore, but I am still thinking and writing about it, so here we are.

I dedicate this chapter to all 191 followers of this fic. I hope every single one of you enjoys the update!

And a special shout out to those who still believed I would update, or posted those reviews months and months and months after my last update. Because, seriously, you're the reason why I'm here updating today.

**Warning: **This chapter references the last chapter, which references the last chapter...it probably doesn't help, but I'd just recommend reading the last several chapters if you're as rusty as I am on this story.

**Another Warning**: There is some gore in the flashback. Just a bit of a head's up to the squeamish crowd out there.

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 28: The Tale of Action**

"Easy does it, son."

"I can't really tell if you're more concerned for your fingers or for your invention."

"I can't believe you have to ask that question."

Ron smiled before shifting on the wooden stool, wincing.

"This would be easier if you'd stop breathing all over my shoulder."

Arthur held the contraption as still as physically possible and Ron mumbled Melding Charms under his breath to fuse the metal slats together.

"This is going to be one of the greatest accomplishments of my life. I'm old, son, I don't have a lot of life left. Forgive me for being unable to contain my excitement."

"If _this _thing is one of your greatest accomplishments…well, Dad, I hope you live a lot longer than you expect."

"This is going to be wicked."

"Better than the Ford Anglia?"

Blue eyes flickered warmly at a nearly forgotten memory.

"Well…it'll be close."

"Brilliant," Ron smiled as he placed his wand on the workbench and leaned back to survey his work. "What do you think?"

"If this works, your Mum owes me quite a few apologies," Arthur beamed, staring at their accomplishment with pride.

"And Hermione will owe me quite a few Galleons."

"You placed a bet on my invention?"

"There's a whole family pool, Dad. Bill and Percy already owe me since we didn't blow up the shed in the process of making it."

"This will revolutionize magical communication…we're making our mark in wizarding _history_…and my children are trying to make a quick Galleon out of it," Arthur hung his head in mock disappointment. "What will my cut look like?"

"If we can get it to go on the first practice run, I'll split you 50/50."

"_I'm _the inventor here. It should at least be 60/40."

"Only if I get 60, Dad. _I'm _the one with the Galleons on the line."

"Does your mother know about this?"

"Please. She spends enough of her life trying to ignore the existence of this shed."

Arthur sighed.

"Ron."

"She's only down three Sickles. She didn't think you'd have anything close to ready to test until next year. I don't think she accounted for my help."

"Clearly not," Arthur shook his head sadly before slapping his son on the back. "No sense in waiting now. Let's give it a test run."

"That's the spirit!"

The father and son duo grabbed their wands and the prototype before exiting the dilapidated shed-made-laboratory.

"Why don't you head over to the other side of the house and I'll set things up on this end?" Arthur said, juggling the large metal contraption with a scrap of parchment, wand, and ink-filled quill.

"We're not really going to push the limit?" Ron asked, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"What did you have in mind?"

Ron just grinned wider before turning on the spot to Apparate.

Arthur waited a few minutes, curious as to what his son was up to. When he didn't return, however, he understood the message pretty clearly.

"Granddad? What're you doing?" Hugo called, having left the confines of the Burrow to check on his father and grandfather. He gaped upon seeing what the man held in his arms. "Is that…_it_?"

"You want to help your father and I test it out?" Arthur beamed, ever-pleased to see the interest his grandson held for one of his inventions.

"Awesome!" Hugo exclaimed, sprinting to close the distance between them. He held his breath upon viewing the impressive machinery for the first time. "What're you calling it?"

"We're a little more worried about getting it to work before spending time on marketing it. That sounds like a job for you and your sister."

"_Flash Mail_," Hugo supplied automatically, never taking his eyes off the magically modified radio-controlled airplane. "I was thinking about it all day. Is it really ready for a test run?"

"We hope so," Arthur replied, inspecting the low wing with nervous excitement.

"Uncle Harry won't be happy about this. Last time the betting pool was updated he had 10 Galleons on the first attempt not being able to make it five feet without bursting into flames."

"We haven't started it up yet. There's still time for that," Arthur's smile dipped a bit when he glanced at his grandson, who looked to have a bad taste in his mouth. "What's wrong, Hugo?"

"We haven't seen Uncle Harry in over a month."

"Hey," Arthur looked to the child compassionately. When Hugo's forlorn eyes remained downcast Arthur put aside his contraption to place both hands on the young boy's shoulders. "_Hey_."

"It's stupid," he shook his head, embarrassed at the sudden surge of loss he felt.

"It is _not_ stupid, Hugo."

"I miss him, Granddad," the young boy continued to avert eye contact. "I miss my house. I miss the way things used to be before this old, dumb, Death Eater guy came and ruined everything."

Hugo blinked back his tears and squirmed in the older man's grip, but Arthur kept a sturdy hold on him.

"Have you talked to your father about this?"

Hugo shrugged noncommittally.

"You should," Arthur continued on. "He'd tell you exactly what I'm about to tell you. Are you listening?"

Hugo looked up at him and nodded, clearly attentive.

"Now when your father and Uncle Harry had their first solo mission as Aurors—"

"Wait wait wait!" Hugo interrupted, looking utterly bewildered. "Is this one of those '_Dad tells a story to teach a lesson' _stories? That's not allowed to come from anyone but him! I wasn't prepared for this!"

"Who do you think your father learned it from, eh?"

Arthur beamed and continued his son's story as his grandson fumed in confused agony.

* * *

It perhaps went without saying that the mini Death Eater reunion held at three in the morning in the middle of nowhere was supposed to be a private event.

"Geez Harry, my first night as an Auror and this is how you have me spend it?"

Nobody had bothered telling that to Harry or Ron though.

"It's like you don't know me at all. This is exactly the sort of trouble I would get us into. I'd be so happy to see you if you hadn't led every Death Eater in the vicinity directly to me," Harry grinned widely, looking exceedingly relieved to see his best friend despite his comments.

"You are such an idiot," Ron rolled his eyes as a spell whizzed by his ear. "You mind picking up the pace a bit? I'd prefer not getting captured tonight."

"Who's the idiot?" Harry winced when a stumble over the rough terrain pulled at a burn on his side. "Seriously. You led them _right to me_."

"You would be so lost without me," Ron replied smugly. "And can your knobbly knees not support a faster pace?"

"How dare you mock the knees of the Chosen One?" Harry said superciliously, feigning outrage.

"Oh what the hell kind of comeback is that?"

"And now who's slowing down? Quit laughing and hurry it along, eh? I know I'm a funny bloke and all but there really is like eight guys chasing us."

"If I hadn't spent the better part of my night tracking you down," Ron panted, hurdling over a fallen log, "I'd hex you."

"Need a wand for that, don't you?" Harry eyed his empty-handed partner.

"I can still kick you."

"Save the energy for running faster, why don't you."

"Down!"

Both dove for cover as a barrage of powerful spells launched over their heads, their hair whipping about with the intensity of the magic a breath above them.

"And up!" Ron shouted once more. "Run!"

"Oh we were supposed to be running?"

"Sing a new tune, why don't you."

"But I quite like this song," Harry responded, not even hesitating as they reached a thickening of undergrowth that demanded they momentarily split up. "I'm left, you're right!"

"Well it's nice to hear you say it," Ron beamed as Harry disappeared from his view. "And your commitment to our banter is just awe-inspiring, I hope you know."

"Couldn't do it without—"

Ron skidded to a halt when Harry suddenly went silent.

"Harry?"

An unsettling feeling filled his head with an alarming buzz and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Harry!" he panted, trying to catch his breath as he frantically searched the wooded area around him for any sign of his best mate. "You're not getting out of letting me have the conversation credit I deserve."

He passed around a tree and felt the horrible sensation of cords wrapping around his legs, effectively entangling them. He grabbed the tree and steadied himself as the shouts of his pursuers grew far too close to his liking. He hopped forward, unable to do much else other than search for Harry without a wand, when he was thwarted once again by something far more sinister than a horde of angry Death Eaters.

"_No_!" Ron waved his arms around like a maniac, not even close to succeeding in removing the spider web that wrapped its silken tendrils around his face.

Gravity beat him down, sending him head over bound-heels when the ground below him suddenly sloped. He braced himself, throwing his hands in front of his face defensively, but was surprised when a greeting with the ground was not immediately forthcoming.

A swooping sensation filled his stomach as he fell, disoriented and not knowing which way was up until his back slammed into the hard ground. The breath was sucked out of him as he continued down the steep incline, his body flung around with little grace.

His descent was finally halted by a large patch of mud.

Ears ringing, head swimming, body numb, Ron stayed still, looking at the leafy canopy above him through half-lidded eyes; he had heard more than one bone break on his fall and he was not looking forward to learning which ones they were by moving around.

"Ron? Ron! _Ron_!"

He breathed a sigh of relief as he shifted his head minutely in the direction of the voice that penetrated through his hazy thoughts. Even that small movement proved painful.

"Ron, are you okay?" Harry cried out, although Ron was yet unable to physically locate him.

"Shut up a minute," Ron whispered harshly as the distant sound of Death Eater reached his ears once again.

It took a good ten minutes of drifting in and out of consciousness before it got quiet enough that Ron felt it safe to speak again.

"Could you quit making this rescue attempt more difficult than it needs to be?"

"God, Ron, are you okay?"

"Oh, you know, still conscious after a fall like that. I figure that's a promising sign. You?"

"I don't really appreciate testing the boundaries of my pain threshold like this. But yeah, likewise conscious."

Both took a moment just to breath, the only disturbance coming from the few birds in the vicinity that hadn't been frightened away by their abrupt arrivals.

"You don't plan on moving, do you?" Harry broke the silence.

"I was hoping it wouldn't be necessary for some time," Ron replied, frowning when he tasted mud and blood on his tongue. "Why d'you ask?"

"Well I didn't figure you wanted to get caught tonight, but you're doing a spectacular impression of someone who does, sitting out in the open like that. Also," Harry said, part of his voice drowned out by a rustling noise, "I could use your assistance."

"You're not dangling from a tree or something, are you?" Ron asked, grinning at the mental image.

"No, just bleeding out all over the place, thank you very much. Nothing too taxing, but I may require your Healing expertise."

"Ha!" Ron laughed, grimacing at the pain that flared inside his head in result. "You know it only gets better when I don't have a wand."

"Well then, I anxiously await your arrival."

Ron inhaled through his nose before curling his toes. They did so with no pain. Emboldened with this minor success, he tested his fingers. He sucked in a sharp breath when pain radiated up both his arms as a result.

"If you could ignore the unmanly noises I am likely about to make, it'd be much appreciated," Ron ground out through an attempt to move a now clearly dislocated left shoulder.

"I always do," Harry said, the soft edge of his tone bellying concern rather than amusement.

"_Ah_…" Ron closed his eyes tight upon finding a feeble attempt to move his legs sent a shock right up his spine and made him forget where he was for the briefest of moments.

"Merlin, Ron—"

"Shut it! That was j-just my victory cry! I find it heartening to know that the restraints around my legs came undone in the fall."

"Lucky you," Harry deadpanned. "Seriously, Ron, stay put. I'll…I'll come to you."

"You will not; I'm already halfway there."

Harry laughed through a wheeze and Ron took the moment of his distraction to roll onto his stomach, which resulted in his vision going completely black.

"Ron! _Ron_! What the hell did I just tell you? Stay put, I tell him. I'll come to you, I say. And what is your reply? Quit whining, he says. Don't worry yourself over my girlish squeals of discomfort, he declares. And then you overdo it and are now either mute, sleeping, or dead. Ronald Weasley, I swear to Merlin—"

"Hey," Ron blinked his eyes back open, rather confused as to what just transpired in the minute or so he had lost consciousness. "You can shut it now; I'm still alive. No need for full first names."

"I preferred it when you were unconscious. At least then I got my full word in."

"I'm pretty sure the only reason I came to was so I could continue this wonderful thing we have going on that we consider an ordinary exchange and that others would consider the slaughtering of civilized conversation."

"Then by all means, I shall continue disparaging you."

"Please, please do," Ron ground out, keeping his left hand tight against his chest while reaching out with his right in an attempt to get some form of forward progress started.

"The Sacred Knees of the Chosen One do not like to be kept waiting, Weasley."

"I…I definitely need to get you some lessons in humility after this," Ron half-laughed, half-moaned as he used his broken fingers to drag his beaten body through the sludge.

"How am I supposed to fit that into my busy schedule?"

"Cut out that hour and a half you spend looking at yourself in the mirror."

"Hey now, I'm the one who's supposed to be bringing on the insults. You keep crawling along at a snail's pace instead of whipping up those witty retorts of yours, okay?"

"You'll have your chance at insults when you see how pathetic I look," Ron held his breath as he finally reached compact earth. "Now where the hell are you?"

"You see that large bush a bit to your left?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I happened to land right on top of it."

"Oh, you are not subtle at all," Ron grinned at the predicament, continuing to crawl forward with the use of only his right arm.

"Says the carcass with one working appendage."

"Still better than none, eh Potter?"

"Better than looking like the Creature from the Black Lagoon."

"I think cheering your savior on towards the finish line would be better than verbally abusing him with Muggle insults he doesn't get and making him forget why he's bothering with this torture in the first place."

"Hey, try not to crawl toward that other bush that looks just like me, yeah?"

"It might be best if you just not talk at all," Ron replied, finally reaching the shrubbery.

"How nice of you to finally join me," Harry's eyes found Ron's in the darkness.

Ron's next retort got caught in his throat as he surveyed his best friend's dilemma. Sometime during his fall or landing he had lost a fight with the sizable tree branch that was embedded in his abdomen.

"Now don't give me those baby blues," Harry eyed him sternly, "I know I look good but this is getting uncomfortable even for me."

"And you said I was a carcass?" Ron gave him a half-hearted smile, not even sure how to start handling a problem of this magnitude.

"Oh please, this old thing?" Harry rolled his eyes while showing off his injury. "You flatter me."

"Not a compliment," Ron replied, gathering his bearings before shifting closer. "Budge up, ya git. This'll have to make due for our hidey hole for the rest of the night."

Ron winced sympathetically as Harry made a variety of strange noises and facial expressions as he did his best to make room for his friend to join him.

"Well gee Harry, you're starting to sound like my old Uncle Bilius. Horrible emphysema."

"Come on and join me then, oh master of flexibility."

"Hey, sounding like my uncle would be a blessing, considering I'm about to do a mean impression of my four year old niece."

"Then by all means," Harry flattened the ground beside him invitingly.

Ron reached a hand forward into the thicket only to pause when the sounds of oafish feet stumbling over uneven terrain reached his ears.

"_Shit_," Harry's already pale face seemed to lose even more color as he reached out for Ron's arm. "_Come on_!"

Ron gripped Harry's arm with both his hands, biting his lip at the painful grinding in his left shoulder. He did his best to haul himself forward, his fear of getting caught momentarily surpassing the pain it caused him.

It was a team effort that resulted in Ron landing nearly on top of Harry's face.

"_Legs_!" Harry's whisper tickled Ron's arm unpleasantly. The redhead did as told, reaching back to drag his useless legs into the relative safety of the leafy hiding spot.

Ron knew he passed out in that attempt because he woke up to harsh voices that were close enough to send his heart racing. He jumped as Harry poked his cheek before putting a finger up to his lips in a shushing gesture. A raised eyebrow was Ron's response and Harry returned it with a small smile before both Aurors listened in on the conversation happening too close to either of their liking.

"We're running circles now," a female voice argued. "Greyback's the only one good at tracking."

"I tend to agree," a male voice dripping with sarcasm returned. "Minus that one time we followed him around for an hour only to have him snuff out a gnome."

"Ha, I remember that one," a third Death Eater approached the duo, a laugh in his otherwise gravelly voice. "Good to know we've stopped the hunt in favor of reminiscing about the good old days. If you like I can start up a campfire to set the mood."

"How about you drop the attitude and give us the orders you so obviously want to dish out," the female spat out, clearly not amused by the newcomer.

"How about you fan out in _that _direction like you were supposed to twenty minutes ago. And if you could find Potter while you're doing so that'd be swell."

The girl muttered a few profanities under her breath before stomping away.

"New orders, by the way," the man who had to be further up the chain of command continued off-handedly. "Still need Potter alive, but you can kill the spare."

Something dark and ugly flashed through Harry's eyes and Ron panicked when he made a violent yet fruitless move. Ron gripped his shoulder and squeezed hard, searching his eyes.

Harry breathed deeply through his nose but otherwise remained still while the Death Eaters finished finalizing their plans and went separate ways. The duo remained still for several minutes after their departure.

"Nice place you got here," Ron finally uttered, attempting humor to dispel the darkness that still clouded his best friend's eyes.

Harry glanced up at him and swallowed.

"This is going to sound stupidly sentimental but I'm glad you're here with me, broken legs and all."

"I'm pretty sure the only reason you're glad I'm here is because you want to use me as a shield."

"You're a pathetic shield. You need to eat more."

"Poor choice of words when a shift to the left would cut off your wind pipe."

"If you were a bit more burlier and sturdier you may not have broken every bone in your body tripping over that mole hill. You mind bulking up for our next mission?"

"You just described McLaggen, so no. And that's assuming we even get another mission."

"Oh, come on, I think this is going well! Don't you?"

"The man with the world's largest splinter says this is going well. Please tell me you're not about to go into shock."

"Considering we're unlikely to get found by the relief squad until morning, you'd better hope not."

"There's a prospect," Ron gave a rueful smile, the pounding in his head making him feel ill. "That sliver of yours your only problem?"

"Aside from every other horribly traumatic thing that's happened thus far?"

"Your only _pressing _problem, you pessimist?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"Great. Knees still sacred?"

The corners of Harry's mouth curled up.

"Better believe it."

"Comfortable?"

"Not especiall—"

The smile wiped off of Harry's face instantly and he let out a painful moan as Ron adjusted his position, moving to assess the branch sticking gruesomely out of Harry's stomach.

"This is so gross," Ron replied, pleased at least in finding that the bleeding surrounding the wound was minimal. "Remind me to take a picture before the Healers pluck it out with a giant pair of tweezers."

"Only if your compound fractures can be in it with me."

"We are not talking about that," Ron swallowed back bile, not wanting to think about the throbbing pain radiating from the legs he was too afraid to look at. "People die from blood loss, not broken bones."

"That isn't even _close _to the truth."

"Silence! I'm the Healer here!"

Ron rolled Harry's torso towards himself, freezing in his actions at finding that the stupid branch had done the job proper and exited through his back, leaving a bloody mess on the forest floor that his body had done a great job at hiding.

"Dammit, Harry, how the hell are you still alive?"

"It…it'd be really…embarrassing if Voldemort couldn't…couldn't take me out but a t-tree branch did."

"Agreed. Guess we can't let this kill you then," Ron surmised, trying to hide a whimper as he managed to wriggle out of his cloak with his dislocated shoulder and broken fingers. "Continue being a stubborn bastard and try to stay conscious while I wrap you up, eh?"

"S-stubb…" Harry's half-hearted complaint died when Ron once again rolled Harry over, hastily compacting the exit wound with his tattered and muddy cloak.

"Brace yourself," Ron murmured, hating the squelching sounds that were made as he manipulated the fabric to cover as much of the wound as he could. He was careful in laying Harry back down, knowing that gravity would provide the best pressure to his homemade compress. "See? Now was that so bad?"

Ron's blood ran cold when he didn't receive an answer.

"That wasn't an invitation to die on me!" Ron felt bile rise up in his throat again. "Hey you, rise and shine!"

He didn't hesitate when he slapped Harry soundly across the face. Harry's eyes flew open and Ron flung an arm over his torso to prevent him from committing to any further action.

Harry blinked wide eyes at the leafy ceiling above him before shifting his gaze on Ron. "Oh, you _suck_ as a Healer,"

"Good to hear your griping," Ron breathed a sigh of relief, resting his forehead on the arm still stretched across Harry's chest.

"It's pretty bad, isn't it?" Harry asked, lips blue.

"It's all pretty bad, yeah."

"Still better looking than you."

"Not that difficult of an accomplishment to achieve."

"Well it's no fun if we're both making fun of you."

Ron grinned, no longer possessing the strength to move from his position on his best friend's chest. If Harry was uncomfortable with his proximity, he didn't voice it.

"Hey Ron?"

Ron hadn't realized his eyes had closed until he forced them open.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad it was you."

Ron wasn't sure if he was referring to his pathetic rescue attempt tonight, or perhaps a meeting that had occurred a lifetime ago on a train ride, but either way he smiled as his heavy lids closed again.

"It'll always be me."

* * *

"So? Did it burn to the ground or what?"

Arthur and Hugo both turned as a peeved Ron Weasley came stomping up to them. He eyed the situation critically, noticing the magic airplane still lying on the ground at their side, before glaring at them both.

"I've been waiting on the other side of town for _15 minutes_! What on earth have you been doing?!"

Grandfather and grandson shared a look and Ron's eyes narrowed to slits.

"No! No you did_ not_ just tell one of _my _stories! Daaaad! Do you have any idea how short his attention span already is? I'm lucky to get in one good story a year that actually sticks! I can't believe you!"

"Wow," Arthur chuckled at his son's tirade, "it's moments like this that make me feel 20 years younger."

"What story did you tell him then?" Ron demanded.

"Your first Auror mission."

"What? No!" Ron covered his eyes in mortification. "Haven't I told you that one yet, Hugo?"

"No! And that one should have taught you a valuable lesson, Dad! Maybe one you could put into practice, oh, I don't know, today, maybe?"

"You're right, Hugo," Ron sighed, removing his hand from his face and resigning himself to the fact that the last 15 minutes had, in fact, actually resorted in his son learning something that would stick. A whole year wasted, all thanks to his own father. The worst kind of betrayal. "I really should have just left Harry there. That bush would've grown around him."

"Dad!"

"Seriously! My shoulder's never been the same since that night," Ron rubbed his left shoulder subconsciously, as if haunted by a phantom pain.

"Ugh!" Hugo threw his hands up in the air in exasperation before heading back up to the house, sitting on the back steps to form the solitary audience of _Flash Mail's_ first test run.

Arthur watched his grandson leave before turning to his own son, looking bemused. "Can't you and Harry find some way to smooth things over? Your kids miss their uncle."

Ron mulled the thought over, but the look on his face made it seem like he was still thinking about past injuries, which, Arthur realized, was probably accurate.

"I've knocked on his office door every day for the past two weeks. He either Floos away or ignores me. Today he ignored me for ten solid minutes and _then _Flooed away, which was a nice change of pace I suppose."

"Then maybe I should speak with him," Arthur looked off in the distance, a rather wise expression on his face. "Perks of being the father-in-law; he _must _listen to me, or else I get to take my daughter back."

"Yes, I can just picture it," Ron gave a crooked grin despite his doubts. "A full-proof plan."

"Ah, one brilliant plan at a time, I suppose!" Arthur's eyes widened in glee as he bent to lift his invention off the ground once more. "Let's start with the one that's less likely to combust, shall we?"

"The fact that the maiden voyage of _Flash Mail_ is likely to go over better than my reconciliation with Harry is distressing."

"Where is everyone coming up with this _Flash Mail_ name?"

"Oh, Hugo was ranting about it all morning. I kinda like it," Ron chirped. "So if our hunk of metal doesn't come to me in twenty minutes should I assume it's a malfunction or should I expect to come back to you telling stories to my daughter next?"

"No more distractions, I promise," Arthur smiled warmly, sending his son off with a nod. "Go on."

"Hear from you soon, I hope," Ron waved back with crossed fingers before turning to Apparate once more.

Ron swallowed down the brief nausea he usually felt after Apparating as he stumbled to a stop. He sighed, placing his wand in his pocket, before taking in the site of Knightstone Drive.

Nothing appeared drastically different. The begonias the Bensons had planted what felt like days ago but was in fact weeks ago were beginning to flourish. Mrs. Puckle must have had Vi over recently, for a jump rope had been abandoned on the lawn.

Ron approached his own house, realizing it had changed the most out of all those on the street. Where lights, voices, and flurries of movement had once been a constant in the home, a dark, silent, empty house had taken its place. Someone had been taking care of the yard, and Ron had the suspicion that it was a heartbroken Mrs. Puckle. Ron could spot her watering can resting on the porch steps.

An odd noise, something between a pop and a squirt, came from behind him. Ron turned to find something ablaze headed right at his face at an alarming speed. He barely had time for surprise before ducking, the flaming metal near-decapitator zooming over his head to crash into his mailbox in a spectacular blaze of vandalism.

"Well, I hope it at least made it over five feet before this happened," Ron huffed, pulling out his wand when he was certain none of his neighbors were around to view the catastrophe. "I _really _don't want to owe Harry any money on top of everything else."

He extinguished the flames, pleased at least that his father's Flame Retardant Charms had worked and that his invention was still in one piece, even if his own mailbox had to suffer.

He was surprised to find that the letter it was meant to deliver was also intact.

Ron folded open the note, smiling at its contents but experiencing a heavy heart at their price.

_We're glad to have you here, son._

* * *

**A/N**: I forgot how horrendous of a cliffhanger I left the last chapter, and I realize that that was one of the cruelest things I could have ever done to my poor readers. A thousand and one apologies, because seriously. That is a horrible writer move. I am the scum of the Earth! T.T

I have absolutely NO idea when I'll update next. Zero. None. Hopefully it won't take years, because that's very pathetic, but I have proven to be very pathetic. I hope my next chapter can just be for funzies. Then again, most of this chapter was for funzies….

Forget it. ALL of this chapter was for funzies. I love Harry and Ron's epic bromance way too much. It's a bit disturbing, actually. But some things just can't be helped.

Whelp, that's that, I suppose. This is still the longest story I have ever written, and I'd like to keep it that way. So whether it be a week, a month, a year…I'll be back.

~dieselwriter


	29. Birthdays

**A/N: **Has it been five months already? Inconceivable!

This chapter. Oh…this chapter. I don't know if it's obvious by the subject matter, but I wanted to get this out last week. Certain schoolwork which shall not be named got in the way. But this is a chapter I could not be more proud of and one that I think you will all enjoy. It had four major overhauls before we got to this point, but I hope the effort is obvious and worth the extra week it took to get right.

That being said, this chapter is either insane or genius. It's super long (ridiculously so!), so grab the popcorn and settle down for a spell. Also mind the bad puns.

This chapter goes out to those readers who were kind enough to review the last chapter. You really made me remember why I enjoy writing this story so much and I appreciate the fact that you have stuck it out with me on this long journey. I present to you the next part of the path and hope you will continue on with me. I thank you sincerely.

Please forgive the sentimentality and enjoy:

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 29: The Seven Tales of Birthdays**

"What's this?"

Ron stared dopily at the gift-wrapped box Harry deposited onto his lap.

"A present?" Harry's answer almost appeared nervous. "Is that okay?"

There were moments, and they happened quite often, where Harry would adopt a clueless expression when confronted with something unfamiliar involving the Wizarding World. But the puzzled look Harry was currently sporting was the one that came few and far between and had more to do with a fear that he was overstepping social boundaries.

Ron hid the scowl he reserved when faced with thoughts of those horrid Muggle relatives Harry was forced to live with and instead smiled broadly.

"Who's going to be upset over a present?" Ron laughed off the inquiry, shaking the small parcel curiously. "What is it?"

"A present!" he repeated emphatically, now certain that this gift giving was not only all right but appreciated. "It's supposed to be a surprise!"

"I hope it's Hermione's Potions' essay," Ron muttered, making Harry laugh. "I'm serious; it's my birthday and I didn't want to spend any second of it doing an assignment for Snape."

"I didn't think you'd want to spend it doing an assignment for any professor," Harry grinned and Ron shrugged his shoulders, not disagreeing, before digging into the wrapping.

"It better not be a puppy," Ron mock scolded. "McGonagall will be furious."

"Oh, you caught me," Harry held his hands up in defense. "I just assumed she'd take one look at its cute face and be unable to get rid of it."

"Harry," Ron threw him an exasperated glance before holding up the box of Chocolate Frogs. "This is not a puppy."

"Maybe next year," Harry couldn't even pretend to hide his gleeful smile for the sake of the running joke. "Now open it up and toss me one."

* * *

"And that's how I spent my first birthday at Hogwarts. And what a good birthday it was," Ron had a bit of a faraway look in his eye that even the raging thunderstorm outside couldn't shake. "Minus Harry's awkwardness. That kid thought I'd be offended if he sneezed the wrong way."

"How do you sneeze a wrong way?" Hugo crinkled his nose at the thought.

"It's a figure of speech," Ron crossed his arms superiorly, as if that were the final word.

"It's not," Rosie declared, peaking her head over the top of her book.

"I say it all the time!" Ron exclaimed, reaching forward to snatch the tome from his daughter.

"Hey!" she shouted, but Ron placed the book on his chair before reclaiming it, and the face she adopted made it clear she wouldn't want to touch that book again any time soon.

"It's my birthday and all I want is my children's attentions while I tell my stories," he said, feeling rather high and mighty indeed while sitting on top of the book.

"This should count for Father's Day too," Hugo mumbled. "This is practically torture."

Ron said nothing, but the glower he sent Hugo's way cowed the young boy into silence.

Both children were momentarily saved when their mother arrived in a flash of emerald green flames.

"Sorry I'm late," Hermione stepped out of the fireplace, stopping to look in concern at the pouting looks her children were sporting. "Ron, are you using your birthday as an excuse to bully our children?"

"No!" Ron protested, but the loud and resounding yeses from Rosie and Hugo overshadowed him.

"You'll have plenty of people to pester in…" she checked her watch and balked at the time. "Five minutes. Wow, I'm _really _running late!"

"You're only late for being early," Ron denied. "That just makes you like the rest of us: on time."

"Sorry we're late!" Percy appeared out of the fireplace just like his sister-in-law had moments earlier.

"No one's late!" Ron ran a hand through his hair in bewilderment. If it had been any one of his other siblings they would have considered showing up five minutes early to a birthday party as actually being early.

"Happy birthday, Ron!" Audrey appeared at her husband's side a moment later, unaware of her brother-in-law's distress.

The foul mood that had infected Ron's spirit practically melted under the warm, genuine smile Audrey gave him. She was the only relative he had that didn't give him a hard time, even when he deserved it, and for that he was grateful to her.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Is your mum in the kitchen?"

"Couldn't drag her away from it even if it caught fire."

"Shall I go help her then?" she turned to Percy.

"I'm sure it would be most appreciated," he kissed her cheek.

"I'll come with you," Hermione said, giving Percy a piercing stare that made Ron glance between the two of them curiously. "You should pull up a chair and get comfortable, Percy."

"An excellent suggestion!" Percy said pompously, taking a seat beside Hugo on the couch. "Come, Ron, tell us about one of your old birthdays. We'd love to hear it."

Hugo shook his head emphatically, aghast that his uncle had so easily forgotten the definitions of both _we _and _love_, but Percy threw his arm around his nephew's shoulder and brought him in for a squeeze that purposefully kept the boy from escaping or voicing his disapproval.

Ron eyed his brother shrewdly several moments after Hermione and Audrey had left the room, but when all Percy did was smile eagerly, Ron leaned back in his seat and began his second story.

* * *

The Chamber of Secrets had been opened, and Ron sincerely wanted to be an enemy of the heir at this moment. Because at this very moment, hanging out with the monster Hagrid may or may not have unleashed on the school was a far more appealing option than being where he currently was.

His eyes were beginning to cross and he shook his head, trying to keep himself awake long enough to finish his assignment. He reread the essay topic of the pop quiz he was supposed to be writing for the fifth time.

_In no less than 2,000 words, summarize any one of Gilderoy Lockhart's books._

In 13 years worth of birthdays, this was by far the worst one yet. And that even took into account the time Fred and George had locked him in a closet for two hours on his eighth birthday.

"That was the most painful thing I've ever experienced," Ron complained loudly an hour later to Harry and Hermione as they left the classroom. He dropped his voice and added, "I'd rather confront Hagrid about opening the Chamber of Secrets than go through that again."

"_Ron_!" Hermione looked offended, although Ron wasn't sure if she was upset over his criticizing of her favorite professor or over treating the theory of Hagrid letting loose Slytherin's monster on the school so casually.

"I assume you had enough time to summarize his whole set of books, then, did you?"

"I had enough time to finish the assignment," she replied snippily.

"I think I have to agree with Ron on this one," Harry sighed, breaking up the fight before it could begin. "At least when Lockhart gave us that pop quiz on the first day of class you could've guessed an answer. Hard to fake a writing assignment."

"Please," Ron scoffed. "All you had to write was _Gilderoy Lockhart saved everyone and is the greatest wizard of all time _about 200 times and you're guaranteed perfect marks."

Hermione seemed torn between annoyance and amusement, but when Harry laughed aloud she gave in with a smile.

"At this point I just want to drown out the pain of that quiz with cake," Ron continued as they made their way down to the entrance hall.

They froze in place when the giant oak front doors opened, the distant sounds of a raucous party filtering in from behind an elated Professor Sprout.

"What on earth…" Hermione began, and the Herbology professor beamed at the three of them before rushing off up the steps they had just descended.

"Mandrake party in greenhouse three!" she shouted over her shoulder, positively thrilled at the news.

This made little sense of the trio but they didn't say anything to ruin her good mood.

"It's a sad day when the mandrakes are having a better time on my birthday than I am," Ron eventually broke the silence.

"Oh, come on, let's get that cake!" Hermione said brightly, linking her arm in Ron's and practically dragging him into the Great Hall, Harry following close behind.

Ron perked up as well when he was hailed over to the Gryffindor table by the frantic waving of Percy, Fred, George, and Ginny.

* * *

"So…your worst birthday at Hogwarts?" Percy asked, surprising in his attention to the story, sympathies, and knowledge of his youngest brother's hatred of examinations.

"Surprisingly not," Ron shrugged.

"There's just something special about a Weasley party," Bill said, not bothering to announce his presence formally.

"Save us!" Hugo squealed immediately, still partially smashed against his Uncle Percy.

"Sorry, kid, I'm only here to relieve Percy," Bill winked at his brother. "Your expertise is needed in the kitchen."

"Expertise?" Ron repeated doubtfully, but Percy was up and out of the room as if he was looking for an excuse to leave all along. Ron thus cast his suspicions upon the only brother remaining. "I didn't know you were coming."

"And miss out on all this?" Bill said smugly, obviously referring to Rosie with her nose stuck in a new book and Hugo who looked supremely jealous that Percy had been able to escape so easily. "Never."

"Where do you keep coming up with these?" Ron asked his daughter indignantly, snatching the new book from her and having it join the last one in acting as his seat cushion.

"I believe it's about that time for another story, isn't it?" Bill asked bemusedly, taking up the seat on the couch Percy had abandoned. "Hit me with your best shot, Birthday Boy."

"_Nooo_," Hugo moaned, but Bill ruffled his hair affectionately if not a bit roughly to shut him up.

* * *

Sirius Black was bearing down upon him with his 12-inch knife. It was a dream—Ron _knew _it was a dream, one he had been forced to suffer through for several nights now—and yet his heart rate increased dramatically when the murderer advanced and he found he couldn't move.

"You had too much to eat," Percy's disembodied and altogether unhelpful comment was muffled, as if he were just speaking from the other side of the hangings. "It's only a nightmare."

It didn't exactly matter, because Ron knew what was coming and there was little he could do to stop it from happening. The knife came down and Ron flinched awake in as unsettling a matter as possible.

"_Stupid_," Ron grumbled to himself, sitting up slowly. Ever since Black's break-in into Gryffindor Tower Ron hadn't gotten an uninterrupted night's sleep.

He opened his hangings, wanting a glass of water to calm his racing heart, and was startled enough at finding a person by his bedside to yelp out.

"_Neville_!" he whispered, shaking in barely suppressed terror. "_What the hell are you doing_?"

"Trevor won't stop croaking," Neville's eyes appeared especially bright with only the moonlight reflecting off them. "I'm surprised no one else has woken up to complain yet."

Ron just stared in bewilderment at his roommate, and then at the terrarium housing Trevor the Toad. The amphibian ignored the attention, doing his best in defying his master's excuse by remaining silent.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack," Ron sighed eventually, running a hand through his hair wearily.

"Sorry," Ron could see even through the dark the pink that crept across the boy's round cheeks.

Feeling bad, Ron shook his head.

"Nah, it's my fault. Just a little jumpy."

"Or maybe hopped up?"

Neville was smiling faintly through his blush and Ron shook his head in amusement at the bad pun.

"No frog jokes, Neville. Wart are you thinking?"

"Do they bug you?"

"They make me feel as though I'll croak any minute."

"That seems a lily extreme."

"Nice," Ron approved, nodding his head. "A tadpole-thetic—"

"Are you kidding me with that one?" Neville snorted. "Polethetic?"

Ron just shrugged.

"I'm just following your example."

"I hop no one heard that. Polethetic…."

"I'll quickly deny any involvement in this ribbiting conversation."

"I think Trevor actually likes it," Neville noted, looking inside the glass tank at his pet. The frog had not made a single noise since they had started talking.

"I have that effect on people," Ron gave a tired smile, foregoing the water to retreat back into bed. "And animals, apparently. Good night, Neville."

"Ron?"

Ron refrained from closing the curtains while Neville looked at everything in the dark room other than him.

"Neville?" the redhead urged him on.

"I'm sorry."

Ron waited for him to continue but he seemed too embarrassed to do so as he resolutely refused to make eye contact.

"For what?"

"You know…" Neville didn't look at him but still gestured towards him. It was then Ron realized that the hand he had holding onto the hangings was trembling slightly. "I'm sorry about all that."

"Don't even worry about it Neville; I don't," Ron said, not exactly fibbing. If the nightmares were the worst thing to come out of his encounter with Sirius Black, then he had a far better success than his other victims.

"I'm sorry it happened," Neville finally met his eyes for the briefest of seconds, and Ron could see the sincerity behind his words.

"It's okay," Ron replied, not really want to delve into this conversation further at this time of the morning. He went to close the hangings again but Neville interrupted him.

"And Ron?"

"Yes Neville?"

Neville met his eyes once more and smiled.

"Hoppy birthday."

Ron snorted, shaking his head before closing the curtains completely and lying back in bed.

"I've toad you before, no more frog puns. But thank you all the same."

* * *

"And here I thought these stories couldn't get any worse," Hugo was mumbling into a throw pillow forlornly. "I should have known better. Frog puns, I tell you…"

"I may have to agree with Hugo, Ron," Bill said with a straight face. "I said hit me with your best shot, and you give me a Neville story?"

"I don't recall being your trained monkey. If you think you can do better at entertaining, by all means."

Bill just shook his head at his youngest brother.

"I can't steal the birthday boy's thunder. Mum would have my hide."

"Uncle Ron!"

Ron rose from his chair in surprise when his nephew Albus came tumbling out of the fireplace, coughing on a mouthful of ash.

"Good to see you Al!" Ron smiled broadly, thinking that perhaps the last time he had seen the boy was at James' rather unfortunate Quidditch match at Hogwarts. "You know you're supposed to keep your mouth closed when Flooing, right?"

"Happy birthday!" the boy spat out, showing off his dirty teeth with a grin.

"Happy birthday!" his sister Lily echoed as she too appeared out of the fire, rushing forward without hesitation to hug her uncle around the waist.

"Thank you, thank you," Ron pulled Al forward to hug them together. "It's good to see you both!"

"We could say the same," Ginny was the next to arrive, looking pleased when Rosie and Hugo scrambled out of their spots to embrace her. "Hey, kiddos."

"What's a guy gotta do to get a welcome like that?" Bill frowned, but he could say little to disrupt the happy reunion.

"Can't you save us?" Hugo begged his aunt, eliciting a small smile from her.

"Wish I could, but I've got some errands to run before dinner."

"Aw," Ron pouted. "What kind of errands do you have to run on my birthday?"

"Ones involving your birthday present," she responded, rolling her eyes.

"Where do you need me?" Bill asked, rising to his feet.

"Right here."

Ron looked between his siblings analytically, that feeling of distrust rising up again.

"Is there anything I can help with?" he asked innocently enough.

"No!" both responded quickly, with a slight panic that Ron used to confirm his suspicions that they were up to something more diabolical than a gift.

"Fine then," Ron said haughtily, taking his seat once more. "I'll just sit here and get fat and useless then."

"Sounds good," Ginny waved him off before leaving the living room.

"Tell us a story, Uncle Ron!" Lily pleaded earnestly.

Any worry over his siblings' conniving ways vanished immediately. A fire grew in his eye that made Rose and Hugo leery of what was to come.

"A bit more exciting this time around, will you Ron?" Bill threw himself back onto the couch with a thump. He caught Hugo's eye and patted the seat next to him invitingly, making the small boy grimace.

"Oh sure, an exciting birthday story. Let's see…"

* * *

"No more cake; you're going to make me throw up."

"Nonsense!" Ginny claimed, placing another piece onto his plate. "It's your birthday and if the third task is anything like the second, it may be your last."

"Yeah right," Ron rolled his eyes at his sister's melodramatic tone. "Who invited this right little ray of sunshine to my party?"

"I think she invited herself," Harry said teasingly, earning him a jab on the arm by Ginny and a hearty guffaw from Ron.

"Ron?"

Ron turned, still laughing, to find an anxious Padma Patil before him.

"Padma? What are you doing here?"

"Visiting Parvati," she said, nodding her head to a table in the far corner of the common room. Parvati was occupying it along with Lavender Brown, and both were whispering in as gossipy a manner as Ron had ever seen. "She was telling me about your fight with the merpeople during the second task and I just had to hear it firsthand from you."

"Fight with the who?" Ginny asked too skeptically for Ron's taste.

Ron could practically hear his ears begin to sizzle, and there was no doubt that they were bright red. He really _did _feel like he was going to throw up, this time out of sheer mortification.

"Er," Ron glanced around at his friends and sister warily, trying to decide how best to handle the situation. He may have slowly been stretching the truth every time he retold his experiences from the second task less than a week ago. He also may have neglected to mention any of this to Harry, Hermione, and all of his family members. "Well, Hermione and I were told to report to McGonagall's office the night before the task. We entered and Dumbledore was in there…"

Padma was hanging onto every word as if there would be a quiz later, and a week ago Ron would have bet money he didn't have that she would never speak with him again, even if he were the last wizard on Earth. It was with this information that Ron ignored everyone in the near vicinity other than her and lost control of his tongue.

"And he was in the midst of fighting off like eight merpeople."

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny's jaws dropped as Parvati squealed in excitement.

"Whatever agreement Dumbledore had made with the Merchieftainess must have gone sour or something because they immediately jumped Hermione and me right as we opened the door. Hermione went down in about a minute, poor girl, but I've been sparring with my brothers most of my life, so beating 'em up really came as second nature to me. I mean, there was this one guy as big as Hagrid—ugliest bloke I've ever seen—and he got in a good jab with his spear, see—"

Ron rolled up his sleeve and showed off an inch-long scar on his forearm that he had actually acquired from a fall off a broomstick when he was 7. Padma looked at it, completely shocked, awed, and none the wiser of his blatant lie.

"—And I was able to take down at least a dozen of those mer-twits, but not even Dumbledore could stand up to them, so what chance did I really have? Doesn't mean I didn't try, of course; it did take ten or so to tie me up and drag me out. And after Harry came and untied me, I was able to get in a few good swings in revenge before we got out of there."

"That's amazing," Padma was still staring at his arm, clearly fascinated with every word. Ron pointedly ignored the less than impressed stares his friends and sister were aiming at him. "Really amazing!"

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Ginny muttered in a far different tone than the one the Ravenclaw was using.

"Thanks for telling me," Padma continued, either not hearing or not caring about what Ginny had to say.

"S'no problem," he said flippantly, giving her a cocksure grin.

"And, um, happy birthday," she finished, flushing prettily, before scampering off to join her sister once more. The second she reached the table all three girls burst into fits of giggles that made Ron's grin widen.

He attempted to wipe it off his face when he turned back to face his friends. Harry had the decency to speak at a volume that would not be overheard by the tittering trio spying on them from their corner table.

"That might have been the biggest fib I've ever heard in my life. And this is coming from the guy who had his aunt and uncle tell him his parents died in a car crash for 11 years."

"Oh come on!" Ron could feel his ears heating up again. "How could I _possibly _be compared to your horrid Muggle relatives?"

"All three of you are the worst liars I've ever met."

"You saw her face; pretty sure she thinks I lie just fine," Ron said, not quite believing that he would defend his boldfaced deceit.

"You can consider the fact that I didn't rat you out my birthday present," Ginny said, rising to leave.

"What? No, don't go Gin—"

"You are _unbelievable_," Hermione said, following right after Ginny.

Ron sighed, placing his chin in his hand to stare at his only remaining friend.

"You planning on leaving too?" Ron asked him.

Harry pursed his lips, deep in thought, before shaking his head stoically.

"Not while there's cake," he said, leaning forward to snatch up the piece meant for Ron.

* * *

"Wow."

Ron startled, not realizing Percy had reentered the room.

"When did you show up?" he asked his brother.

"Right around the time when the merman stabbed your arm," Percy said, staring at his brother as if he were an intriguing report on cauldron qualifications. "You are really inattentive sometimes, you know that?"

"And a colossal idiot," Bill said acerbically. "Sometimes I can't believe we're related."

"Like your ickle fourth year self never did anything stupid!" Ron said, sticking out his chin in defiance. "The fact of the matter is that I at least was able to learn from my mistakes!"

He leaned down beside him where Albus was sitting, transfixed by the conversation.

"And what I learned was to _never _lie to your mother or aunt's faces," Ron told him in a stage whisper

Al's face split into a wide grin.

"Another story, Uncle Ron!" Lily begged from her spot at Ron's other side.

"I might just go wandering around outside and pray I get struck by lightning," Hugo said, beating his head against the back of the couch.

"Preferably one where you're not a lying skink," Bill said, wrapping his arm around Hugo's shoulders so he was unable to follow through with the idea.

"An exciting, non-skink story."

"Birthday story!" Lily chirped.

"Exciting, non-skink birthday story," Ron amended, shaking his head. "You people are so fickle."

* * *

"What the hell is this?" Ron asked breathlessly, staring at the fluffy black creature that was dumped into his lap.

"Your birthday present!" George declared. "Try to look at least a little grateful, ya git."

The look Ron sent him made him change tactics.

"It was Harry's idea."

Ron stared, dumbfounded, at his best friend.

"What have I ever done to you to deserve this?"

"That," Harry started hotly, pointing an accusing finger at the niffler in Ron's lap, "was _not_, nor ever will be, my idea."

"Geez, Harry, way to hurt a niffler's feelings," George frowned, commiserating with the poor unwanted creature.

"Shall we paraphrase a conversation we shared approximately 10 months ago, Harry?" Fred stepped in, turning to his twin. "'Gee, Harry, why do you have mud all over your robes?'"

"'Oh, you know, Fred," George's voice rose at least three octaves in a sad imitation of Harry's voice, making the bespectacled boy scowl. "'We just got out of a Care of Magical Creature class.'"

"'Really! Well don't keep me in suspense, Harry! I'm just ever so eager to hear about it!'"

"'We learned all about nifflers! It was very educational.'"

"'Oh please tell me more about it, dearest Harry!'"

"'Well, each of my classmates was assigned a niffler, and we set them loose to search for golden coins!'"

"'That is_ very_ exciting to hear, Harry!'"

"'And since Ron's niffler collected the most coins, he was awarded a special prize!'"

"'Was it a niffler of his very own to keep?'"

"'If only! Ron's heart surely would have leapt with unadulterated joy if such were the case!'"

"I never said any of that!" Harry told Ron imploringly, practically begging for understanding. "I never did, I swear it, Ron!"

"I believe your exact words were, 'I have half a mind to give him a niffler for Christmas next year; I've never seen him so excited,'" George said, brow crinkling at the memory.

"It was either that or, 'I have half a mind to give him a niffler for Christmas next year just to shut him up,'" Fred said offhandedly.

"Never have those words crossed these lips," Harry solemnly swore.

Ron was distracted from the entire bedlam surrounding him when the niffler latched onto his wrist, going after his watch.

"McGonagall will never allow this!" he hissed, not bothering to stop the cuddly creature from destroying the timepiece.

"She hasn't complained so far," George shrugged. "Clancy's been hanging out in our room for over a month now."

"You named the niffler Clancy?" Ron asked, nonplussed.

"If we left the naming to you we'd be calling him Niffly," Fred retorted. "And that just sounds ridiculous."

"We won't ever forget the time you named your puffskein _Puffy_…" George sneered through the name.

"This whole situation is insane!" Ron cried out, lifting Clancy away from him as if he were diseased. "I can't keep him!"

"Not holding him like that, you can't," Fred stepped forward, pushing Clancy back onto Ron's lap. "He's just a pup, Ron. You need to cradle him."

"If this is the kind of presents you two hand out," Ron said faintly, praying more than anything that no one would burst into their dormitory to get them in trouble, "I think I'd rather you lock me in a closet again for two hours."

"We never did that!" Fred cried out, sounding scandalized. "Something as cruel as that has Charlie written all over it."

"Oh, it was you two, all right," Ron sighed, petting the top of Clancy's fluffy head half-heartedly. "I could hear your crowing about it on the other side of the door the entire time."

"Then I'll tell ya what, Ron," George said. "In a month it'll be our birthday and I know exactly what you can get us."

"A Bat Bogey Hex?"

"Clancy!" George said delightedly, ignoring Ron's sarcasm. "And we'd be certain to thank you for the gift and not have this pessimistic attitude that you're currently sporting."

All four boys froze when the dormitory door opened and Hermione entered.

"Happy birthday, Ron!" she approached them, a sunny smile on her face. "Celebrating already?"

"Actually, we were just leaving," Fred said hastily, knowing full-well what kind of attitude Prefect Hermione would have regarding Clancy the Niffler. "Happy birthday Ronnie!"

"It was nice knowing you!" George called out over his shoulder as he chased after his twin, scrambling out of the room.

"Well that was strange," Hermione said, a dubious gleam in her eye. "I wonder what's gotten into…"

She was finally close enough to spot Clancy in Ron's arms and blanched.

"What in the world is _that_?!"

"Clancy," Ron mumbled, a bit unsure as to how this whole conundrum had started in the first place.

"But what are you doing with it?"

Ron bit his lip in apprehension, eyes darting to his best friend.

"It was Harry's idea."

* * *

"I completely forgot about that."

Ron's mind blanked for a moment when he found that his brother George had replaced Bill on the couch beside Hugo.

"Where did Bill go?"

"He got up like halfway through," George said, rolling his eyes. "How you became an Auror with observational skills like that I'll never know."

"But why'd he leave? He was the one begging for a good story."

"Is that what you call that?" George asked doubtfully. "I mean I know it had me in it, but that was honestly the only highlight to that tale."

"I liked it!" Lily beamed. "I want a niffler!"

"Trust me when I say you don't," Ron told her as kindly as he could. "I had to hang on to Clancy for the rest of the day and he nearly destroyed all of Hogwarts."

"Can I even ask why we're in here?" George glanced out the window to take in the torrential thunderstorm beating against the pane. "Weather's not bad enough out there to warrant staying in here and getting tortured with one of Ron's old stories."

"Oh yes, _very _funny," Ron did not like the sudden abuse he was faced with and disliked it even less when his children laughed.

"It was a great story!" Al spoke up, but was mostly drowned out by Ron's loan celebratory cheer and the groanings of George, Rosie, and Hugo.

"Seriously, Al," Hugo told his cousin, "let's switch families for like a week. You'll be singing a different tune by the end of it."

Albus flushed, and Ron pursed his lips in silent frustration. He barely got to hang out with the kid as it was, and Ron didn't want their time together sullied by Hugo's bad attitude.

"George?" Molly Weasley appeared at the doorway of the living room, looking particularly flustered with her hair in disarray. She spotted her son on the couch and smiled at him. "I thought I heard your voice. Ginny's requesting your assistance."

"More birthday errands?" Ron's eyebrow rose, interest piqued once more in the goings on of his siblings.

"Either that or someone's in need of a good practical joke," George said, kissing his mother on the cheek in greeting before leaving the room altogether.

"Charlie and his friend haven't popped in yet, have they?" Molly asked Percy.

"I'm afraid not."

"Hang on, I didn't know Charlie was coming," the mischievous glint in Ron's eyes could not be read as anything other than evil delight. "And a friend, eh? Who is it? I hope it's Monica again; she was a nutter."

"Now don't start with that attitude," his mother admonished above the laughter of the four children in the room. "Lynn seems like a very nice girl."

But the way his mother kept her eyes on Percy rather than him let Ron know immediately that something about Lynn wasn't quite as nice as she was letting on.

"I'll be on my best behavior," Ron swore, but his serious demeanor cracked in an instant. "I shouldn't have hoped for Monica anyway; after what Fred and James did to her, I doubt she'd ever show up again."

Molly Weasley didn't seem exceptionally pleased by the reminder.

"Monica was carted off to the Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's thanks to you lot," a gruff voice was the only warning the living room occupants received before Charlie appeared behind his mother, his face screwed up as if trapped in a painful memory.

"Charlie!" Molly jumped before turning around to embrace her second-oldest son. "I didn't even hear you come in!"

"My silent Apparitions are a very enviable skill," Charlie still appeared sullen. "People lose body parts when they pop in and out of dragon dens."

Ron's jaw dropped when a wickedly grinning Charlie waved at him with a right hand that was missing half an index finger. Everything above the knuckle was gone.

"Holy—" Ron bit his lip to silence himself when Charlie pointed his stub of a finger at him in warning.

"But where's Lynn?" Molly had to crane her neck to look her son in the eye.

"Couldn't make it, I'm afraid," he didn't appear too upset over the fact when an egg timer went off. He sniffed the air in anticipation. "Do I smell cake?"

"Oh dear!" was all that Molly got out before she dashed away.

"Sounds like dinner's nearly ready," Charlie strolled into the living room as if he owned the place. When each of his nieces and nephews scrambled to their feet to fawn over his missing appendage, Ron realized he at least owned the attentions of it.

"What happened to your finger?" Lily's asked in a frightened whisper.

"Did a dragon eat it?" Hugo demanded an answer.

"Was it cursed off by an evil warlock?" Rosie wondered.

"Or Monica?" Al jumped in.

"No, no, you pesky bodies, I'll have none of that line of questioning so close to dinner," Charlie ruffled four sets of heads before moving on to the couch. "It's not a story that'll whet your appetite, if you know what I mean."

"Honestly, Charlie," Percy sniffed from his armchair. "Do you even know the definition of subtlety?"

"I'm a big boy, Percy," Charlie waved off the question with his four and a half fingered hand. "I leave the subtlety to blokes like you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Percy asked heatedly, but Ron cleared his throat loudly to dispel any growing argument.

"You really can't tell us what happened?" Ron asked Charlie.

"No, it's your birthday," Charlie replied matter-of-factly. "You're the one who gets to tell the stories today."

"Well, with an invitation like that, how can I refuse?"

Rosie and Hugo's faces dropped when Ron started in on his sixth birthday story.

* * *

There was one second, hardly more than a heartbeat, in which Ron realized that something was terribly wrong.

Scratch that. There had been an entire morning in which Ron had realized that many things were terribly wrong. In that one second it took Ron to succumb to the effects of a fatal dose of poison well hidden in a shot of oak-matured mead he ticked off the top three reasons, in no particular order, in his head.

One: Lavender Brown was his girlfriend.

Two: Romilda Vane had been his infatuation less than a minute ago.

Three: Hermione Granger was not speaking to him.

Whoever came up with the idea of one's life flashing through their minds in the instant before death was an idiot. Ron would be the first to attest to the fact that the only thing to flash in his mind was the enormous mistakes he had committed within the last year. Dating Lavender Brown. Eating those love potion-laced Chocolate Cauldrons. Fighting with Hermione.

The fact that each reason involved women did not evade him. In the process of dying or not, Ron had three obvious problems of the female persuasion.

And as he attempted to rise out of his chair, in order to do what exactly he wasn't sure, his top three reasons were replaced by one glaringly obvious problem.

He couldn't breathe.

"—and may you have many more—"

Yeah, he doubted that. If the poison didn't kill him the irony might.

"_Ron_!"

His legs couldn't support him and his body hit the floor. He had no control over the erratic jerking of his arms and legs and if his mind hadn't retreated into hysterics he would also recognize the fact that his eyes were open but blind.

Worst of all still: he couldn't _breathe_.

With minimal pride he used the few faculties left at his disposal to listen to the sounds of what sounded like a beached beluga. With absolutely no pride he recognized the fact that those noises were coming from him.

It took a long time to die. Certainly this final minute of being 17 lasted as long as the last 16 years of his life.

And the very last thing he felt before what he considered his untimely death overtook him was his mouth being wrenched open and something large and hard being forced down his throat. Why someone felt the need to feed him at this point he doubted he'd ever learn.

Then his body gave up the fight to stay conscious and he remembered nothing else of his 17th birthday.

* * *

"So…what, best birthday ever?"

Ron's deadpan face made all four children in the room laugh.

"I won't even dignify that with a response," he told Charlie insolently. His consternation was displaced by confusion when he realized Percy had up and left at some point during the story. "Do I need to bother asking where Percy went off to?"

"Birthday errands," Charlie said with an innocent shrug.

"Dinner's ready!" Molly called from the kitchen.

"It's a miracle!" Hugo exclaimed, waiting for no further invitation than that to race out of the room.

Ron's annoyed expression remained as he was herded out of the room by Charlie. It vanished the moment he entered the kitchen behind his brother.

"Where is everybody?"

Because aside from his mum, Audrey, Charlie, and the kids, the kitchen was noticeably absent of Weasleys.

"I'm sure they'll be here any minute," Molly answered, but the hesitation in her voice did not bolster Ron's confidence.

She wasn't lying, however, for less than 30 seconds later the backdoor opened and a near army of soaking wet Weasleys paraded into the kitchen. Their damp clothes and demeanor read defeat.

"What's all this then?" Ron demanded, not entirely sure why he felt anger and uncertainty rising in equal proportion in his blood.

No one seemed to want to confess as all averted his stare. The resounding silence made the small kitchen feel exceptionally tense.

"Hermione?" Ron spotted his wife at the end of the line, looking especially guilty.

"Why doesn't everyone start on dinner while I talk to Ron," Hermione said, lifting her head bravely.

"No, Hermione, it was my idea," Ginny spoke up, looking as though she regretted the words already. "I'll explain it all."

"Technically it was _my_ idea," Arthur said.

"I honestly don't care _whose _idea it was," Ron stated slowly, mindful of the fact that there were children present and an explosion from him might upset them. "I'd just like to know _what _it was."

"Harry's on assignment," Percy blurted out.

"_Percy_," George hissed.

"Well he's not here and Ron's gonna notice eventually!" Percy defended himself.

"Actually, he's been exceptionally bad at noticing people's absences tonight," Bill said. "He might never have noticed."

"What's Harry got to do with this?" Ron interrupted, still feeling like he was being intentionally kept in the dark.

"He was _supposed _to come tonight and he was _supposed_ to apologize and you were _supposed _to be friends again!" Ginny exclaimed heatedly, her earlier regret consumed by bitterness for her husband.

A flash of lightening lit up the kitchen after the pronouncement, and Ron's brain suddenly flicked on again. The reason behind his siblings running in and out of the house all day was that they were all out looking high and low for Harry in order to drag him to the party. Considering the vast number of disappointed faces in the kitchen, Ron couldn't believe their plan had failed.

The sticky silence was broken by the clash of thunder that followed a moment after Ron's revelation.

"Well I, er, _appreciate_ all of your involvements in my personal business," Ron started, not really sure how he felt toward any member of his family at this point. The burning of his ears led him to believe that one of the emotions he currently possessed was either rage or chagrin. "But maybe we should just sit down for dinner and forget about all this for now."

"A better plan has never been proposed," George was quick to say. Angelina elbowed him in the sternum.

"Seriously, let's eat," Ron shook his head, taking a seat at the table. "Come on!"

His family members scrambled around, and Ron bit his lip, knowing how close he had been to snapping at them. He really wished they'd all quit being so awkward about this.

It was when they were all finally set at the table that Ron suddenly felt far less hungry than he had just minutes ago. He catalogued his last 25 birthdays and realized immediately what was conspicuously missing today.

"Actually," Ron trailed off, glaring at the rolls at the center of the table. "I think I'm going to go for a walk."

"Ron—"

"Just a quick one," Ron continued, not even knowing who had called his name. "I need to work up an appetite. You guys start without me."

"It's pouring rain out there!" his mother blustered but Ron headed straight out the backdoor anyway, not making eye contact with anyone.

"This sucks," George said as soon as the door slammed shut.

"George, watch your language," his father reprimanded.

"Probably the word I would've used to describe the situation," Charlie said.

"I'll go talk to him," Hermione said, placing her napkin on her empty plate. "Please start; I'd hate for the food to get cold."

Hermione followed after Ron, ignoring the squabbling that continued behind her. She only made it three squelching steps on the lawn before she spotted him leaning up against the side of the Burrow.

"Can I get a new vote for least favorite birthday?" he asked her as she approached. "Normally I'd give my vote to sixth year poisoning, but at least you and Harry were there for it, even if I really, you know," he pointed to his head in an offhanded gesture, "wasn't."

Hermione didn't respond right away, instead taking her time to sidle up beside him.

"I could put a little something in your drink tonight," she said eventually, when the distant rumblings of thunder died down momentarily. "Make it feel more like old times?"

"It'd make things more interesting, I guess."

"Lethal even."

Ron gave a lopsided smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I didn't mean to ruin the mood," Ron told her. "I'm a prat."

"We love you anyway."

"Well thanks for that," Ron said, pushing himself off the house. "Good pep talk, Hermione."

"What? I say we love you and you take offense to it?"

"With that sarcasm?" he placed his hand on the top of his wife's very wet head. "Yes."

"You find your appetite yet?" she asked, removing the hand on her head to hold it in both of hers. "You've got a worried family waiting for you."

"Yeah, I mean, when am I ever not hungry?"

"Ron."

Ron watched as a droplet of water traced its way from Hermione's hairline down the side of her face. He didn't have to see her though to recognize the disapproving tone she used exclusively when he dodged serious questions with humorous yet self-deprecating half-answers.

"Harry really makes it difficult to be his best friend sometimes."

"This I know. Believe me when I say, I know."

Ron's brow crinkled, searching her face.

"That sounded like a loaded response."

"Perhaps because there's a story behind it," she said coyly.

* * *

"So…" Hermione let the conjunction hang in the air a moment, so that Harry was forced to look at her. He did so eventually, looking bored with the talk already. "It's Ron's birthday."

He blinked sluggishly at her.

"So…?" Harry copied her tone, unmoved by the information.

"So I think, maybe, we should do something for him."

"Did you have something specific in mind, or were you planning on being as vague as this conversation?"

"Nothing specific," she replied hastily, flushing slightly. "But I had hoped we might discuss it."

"Well I don't really want to _discuss_ it," Harry said, a bit too nastily. "We're in the middle of nowhere, there's nothing we can do to celebrate, you'll just get mad at him over something dumb and it'll ruin what little we'd be able to string together. So I'd really rather just not bother with anything."

"Harry!" Hermione felt shocked at hearing the words coming out of his mouth.

"Hermione!" he echoed in exasperation. "I'm tired of you dancing around the subject. Either forgive him or yell at him."

"I'm not going to yell at him on his birthday!" she hissed.

"You don't have to treat him special just because it's his birthday. He's still the same guy who abandoned us."

"_Harry_!"

He winced, but Hermione knew it wasn't from regret over what he had said. She knew what was about to come next.

"I'm going for a walk," he said shortly, taking no time to even grab his wand from the table before leaving the tent.

Hermione watched him leave, fuming silently. She wasn't sure if he sought solitude whenever one of his headaches came along because he wanted to hide from her and Ron how painful the experience was or else indulge in them. Where she would have reprimanded herself for the thought before, she wouldn't put it past this current, listless, and infuriating Harry to do such things.

"Look what I found!" Ron entered the tent a moment later, a false grin on his face. No doubt he too had noticed Harry's departure. "Berries! I have no idea if they're poisonous or not, but I have a good feeling about them. You mind taking a look?"

He held out the pail for her to inspect.

"Ron, those are blueberries."

"Well that's what I thought the last time and then I was sick for a week!" he said, hauling the pail over to the sink to wash them off. "So I was thinking that tonight or tomorrow we should head farther north. There's this small magical resort in Tirana that I wanted to check out. I don't know if You-Know-Who takes vacations, but if he did that'd be where he'd go."

Hermione didn't respond right away. Her mind was still stuck on the awful things Harry had said and not for the first time she cursed the visit with Xenophilius Lovegood that occurred several weeks ago.

"Hermione? Anyone home?" Ron called to her. "You okay?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, Tirana sounds fine," she said, coming back to herself. "Let's plan on it for tomorrow."

"You don't want to head out tonight?" he asked her nervously. "I saw that look on Harry's face; best to keep him moving whenever he gets into one of those moods."

"It'll be dangerous with wizards around," Hermione reasoned, biting her lip, "and I'd rather you spend a birthday alive and well."

Ron looked as though he had just been Stunned by her.

"It's my birthday?" he asked, utterly clueless.

"If you still celebrate it on March 1st," she nodded. "Didn't you know?"

"You are very good at keeping a calendar out here," Ron turned back to his berries with a smile. "I can't remember what day of the week it is, and here you are keeping track of birthdays."

"Well happy birthday, at any rate," she sighed. "Sorry Harry's being such a prat for it."

"You get used to these sorts of things," Ron shrugged, walking over to her with his pail. "You mind double-checking these berries though? I don't want a repeat performance of last year's birthday."

Hermione laughed, reaching into the pail to pick out a blueberry and pop it into her mouth.

"Tastes all right to me," she replied, teeth stained with juice.

"Thank God," Ron said, taking out a handful of blueberries for himself. "I know they say another year older, another year wiser, but it feels like nothing could be further from the truth. I know you guys keep hoping for the wisdom, but I'm pretty sure my 11-year-old self could kick this 18-year-old's arse right now."

Hermione laughed, both at the comment and at the extreme amount of berries he shoveled into his mouth a moment later.

"I think you and your 11-year-old self would get along swimmingly."

"Hmm," Ron hummed through his full mouth. He swallowed before speaking. "At the very least I'd be able to beat him in chess."

"Well look at you," she said proudly.

Ron frowned at the approving look she was giving him.

"What?"

"You didn't talk with your mouth full."

"You hate it when I do that," he said accusingly.

"And who says you're not getting wiser?" she responded smugly.

"Not wiser, just more well-mannered."

Hermione's giggle bubbled out of her, and once she started she found it difficult to stop. They spent the next hour together, making each other laugh and sharing the pail of berries.

In spite of all the things she hoped the three of them would accomplish—destroying the Horcruxes, defeating Voldemort, and saving the Wizarding World—she still wished that this time next year would be much the same as now. She could think of no better way to spend Ron's birthday than in his company.

* * *

Ron sighed a world-weary sigh, flinching a moment later when lightening arced above their heads.

"Geez, Harry was such a grouch back then," he muttered. "I nearly forgot."

"He's doing a good impression of his 17-year-old self this year," Hermione said, a surly expression that would have looked more at home on Argus Filch's face. "We are going to have words."

"Get in line with the rest of the family," Ron laughed shortly. "I'm starting to feel sorry for him."

"Don't," Hermione gave him a stink eye and Ron shut his trap. "He made his bed and he'll need to lie in it eventually. He can only procrastinate with Auror assignments for so long."

The thunder came seconds later, giving an even more ominous tone to the threat.

"And on that cheery note," Ron leaned forward to kiss her forehead, "Perhaps we'd better get this birthday show on the road."

"I love you," she said simply, hugging him tight.

"I love you, too," he placed his chin on the top of her head and grinned. "Now let's get inside before my insanely large and meddlesome family eats all my birthday cake."

* * *

**A/N: **So seven tales later… I'm not sure I have any fingers left to type with. At this point it just feels like I have little nubbies banging uselessly against the keyboard. Because seriously. Seven. Tales! Never has such an undertaking been attempted! Probably for good reason: this chapter is more than twice as long as my shortest chapter.

I hope you lot aren't too upset with our dear Boy Who Lived. There are plans in the works for Mr. Potter. Such plans! I shall only make mention of them so you can feel confident, both in my ability to update and in Harry's ability to make amends. Because, let's be honest, who doesn't appreciate the concept of Harry owing Ron an apology for a change?

And with that mammoth chapter out of the way, I hope you will be as patient as you have been thus far and hold strong until we meet up again. Keep me on your radar, cause I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.

~dieselwriter


	30. Loony and the Loch Ness Monster

**A/N**: Happy birthday to meeee! No, it's not technically my birthday, but today marks the official birthday of The Tales of Weasley the Father! Five years old and still going! Woohoo!

In honor of this momentous occasion, the flashback was inspired by the poll featured on my profile page (one of these days I'm going to have to change it...). You voted for who you'd like to see make an appearance in this story and your winner will now be featured!

This chapter is dedicated for all those reviewers, past and present, who have always left a kind word. Seriously, I love writing and I love the Harry Potter fandom (and I love writing _for _the Harry Potter fandom), but without you guys I have serious doubts that I'd be celebrating this fic's fifth birthday.

So without further ado and with much fanfare, I present to you:

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By ****dieselwriter**

**Chapter 30: The Tale of Loony and the Loch Ness Monster**

"This can't be right…how did we spend this much money? We were only gone two days…"

Nigel frowned, squinting to read the tiny print of the expense report in the dark hallway. He had spent many a sleepless night during his admittedly short tenure as the Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic wandering the halls of the Ministry. It was a time he could get serious work done without the stress of bosses and coworkers breathing over his shoulder or else interrupting—

"Oi! Eyes in front, eh? Some of us have very important business to attend to."

Nigel tripped, dropping his papers before finding his balance. He turned to look behind him and find what he stumbled over.

"Nigel," Ron Weasley nodded up at him from his spot on the ground, leaning up against a closed door with his legs splayed out in front of him in as undignified a manner as possible, "always a pleasure."

"Auror Weasley?" Nigel replied incredulously. It was a rare sight indeed to find the youngest Weasley son at work any later than he had to be. Not that he didn't love his work (quite the contrary), but he also had a wife and two children who he loved to consistently brag about waiting for him at home.

"Now I'm pretty sure I've told you to call me Ron an unsettling amount of times before, Nigel."

"W-what are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you. You are the one traversing Auror territory."

"Is that Auror Potter's door you've camped yourself out in front of?"

"And now you're interrogating me? You've offended me, Mr. Wolpert."

"Mr. Wolpert?" Nigel actually did look upset at hearing his surname. "Since when have I become Mr. Wolpert?"

"Since birth, I imagine," Ron frowned, crossing his arms defensively.

"Not to you," Nigel practically pouted.

Ron's eyebrows rose dramatically.

"So let me get this straight," Ron said, scrambling to his feet to face him with a severe height advantage, "you call me Auror Weasley every single time you see me, but I call you Mr. Wolpert once and it upsets you?"

The grin that spread across Nigel's face made him look half his age.

"No, but it did get you on your feet. Go home, Auror Weasley."

"Oh come on, Nigel, it's only…" Ron's jaw dropped when he checked the time on his watch. "Damn, it's 11 o'clock already?!"

"Sounds about right," Nigel replied smugly. "Now go _home_."

"Do you just like, live in the Ministry?" Ron eyed him suspiciously, as if he believed it Nigel's fault that he lost track of the time. "Did I interrupt your late night wanderings before a warm glass of milk and bed?"

"Your giant feet interrupted my perusing of the budget report, actually."

"I'll have you know these _giant_ _feet _could kick your arse all the way back to your office."

"They could kick most things, sir. They are very large."

"Well, despite your best insults and most persuasive arguments, I'm afraid I have to stay here in order to achieve my latest mission," Ron sniffed the air contemptuously. "Top secret stuff, you know. Not even the Minister's right-hand man knows about it."

"If you're referring to me, I've told you a thousand times that my position as Junior Assistant to the Minister is a glorified title meaning secretary," Nigel shook his head when Ron snorted in laughter. "And if your latest mission involves cornering Auror Potter for a distinctly 'Auror territory' conversation, I'm quite certain he sent an owl to Minister Shacklebolt to say his current mission was causing him more troubles than he initially anticipated and his return should not be expected for another few days."

Ron appeared momentarily stunned.

"And what time did this owl arrive, pray tell?"

Nigel hid behind a mask of passivity before answering.

"I believe it was five o'clock, sir."

And now Ron looked livid, if the scarlet coloring of his ears was anything to judge by, and anyone who knew a member of the Weasley family knew it was a telling sign of fury.

"_Five o'clock_?"

"Yes sir."

"I'm going to kill him," Ron raged mutinously, withdrawing his wand and facing Harry's door as if he wished to do it magical harm. "I will sort out our issues after I've killed him. It will be much easier that way."

"You may want to sleep on that death threat, sir."

"Oh trust me, Nigel, it's not a threat, it's a promise. And I'm going to _have_ to sleep on it since he has refused to discuss things like a civil adult."

"It's not possible the owl was a decoy and he's bemoaning his choices of friends in front of _your_ office door, then? Maybe you just missed each other."

Ron glared at his composed schoolmate-turned-coworker.

"Too much of my sarcasm have rubbed off on you, Nigel. It's flattering, but mostly annoying."

"I only wish I could share some of my level-headedness with you, Auror Weasley."

"I remain stubborn to the last," Ron's glare melted into a half-hearted smile. It was hard to maintain any real anger with the always well-meaning Nigel. "You know, you should really follow your own advice. Can't budget cuts wait until the morning?"

"I could just decide to cut some of the Aurors' wages. Honestly, I don't even know why we pay them so much…" Nigel finally broke out a genuine smile when Ron's grouchy frown made another appearance.

"Good night, Mr. Wolpert."

"Good night, Auror Weasley."

Nigel picked up the budget report he had dropped in surprise before carrying on down the hall, and Ron waved him farewell as he rounded the corner.

Then Ron sighed heavily. Hermione was away at some Civil Liberties for the Centaurs convention in Glasgow for the remainder of the week, but that did not mean there wouldn't be hell to pay when he showed up at the Burrow five hours late for dinner.

He was not disappointed when, 15 minutes later, he had set only one foot into the kitchen before being accosted by his irate mother.

"Ronald! What do you call this hour you decide to grace us with your presence?"

Ron shrunk noticeably, having very little to offer in defense.

"That was a rather menacing compliment, Mum."

Molly Weasley scowled, and Ron flinched at the fire burning behind her glare.

"We waited for you for dinner for an _hour_. An entire hour, Ronald! No one wants to eat my cooking when it is stone cold!"

"I do," Ron muttered, wincing when his mother's eyes turned to slits. "What? You're cooking's great no matter how long it's been sitting around."

Molly looked halfway between wanting to hug him and hex him before settling the debate by placing her hands on her hips.

"Well, even if the state of my cooking didn't suffer your absence, your _family_ does not like to be kept waiting, dear. Next time it's a late night would you have the forethought to send us an owl?"

Ron did have the grace to look ashamed of himself.

"I am sorry," he apologized, ducking his head to peek at his shoelaces. "There's just something I've been trying to take care of for the past month or so."

Molly Weasley's face softened, swiftly entering motherly mode.

"No success on the newest mission, I take it?"

Ron shrugged, still watching his shoes and looking rather pathetic indeed. This 'newest mission' wasn't an assignment so much as a hunt for the ever-elusive Harry Potter, who had yet to be seen by any member of the Weasley family since Ron's birthday nearly a week ago.

"Not much to work on when you haven't had two words with the subject since the start of the mission. He extended his assignment today without even telling me."

It upset Ron more than he might have let on with Nigel to not be privy to the information regarding the delay in Harry's return. The raven haired Auror was always adamant about contacting three people when he knew he'd be home later than anticipated while on a mission: Kingsley, Ginny, and Ron.

Molly, understanding all of this with just a glance at her youngest son, brought him in for a hug, holding him tightly.

"It'll happen soon, I'm quite sure of it. Dad spoke with him over the Floo earlier this week, did you know?"

"Ha, yeah, I heard about that," Ron cracked a smile as he withdrew from his mother's embrace. "Didn't George break up that conversation with a Howler?"

"Yes, and Bill sent him another one this morning," Molly replied with a thoughtful frown. "I believe my other sons are just as tired of this standoff as you are, dear."

"Not just sons," Ron smiled even wider, shaking his head. "Ginny said she'd threaten to come back to the Burrow if he didn't at least come to talk to me when he gets back."

"He is a stubborn one, that Harry Potter," Molly sighed.

A sudden _thump_ and flurry of giggles sounded from upstairs, and Molly looked instantaneously cross.

"Now I sent those children to bed two hours ago, I know they must be asleep!" she shouted, her voice undoubtedly carrying throughout the house where his misbehaving children resided. "I better check on them just in case though!"

The giggles stopped abruptly, and Ron grinned crookedly.

"I'll take care of it, Mum," he said, placing a kiss on his mother's cheek. "You go to bed."

"Thank you, Ron," Molly smiled at him, and Ron tried not to frown when he noticed how wan it was. "We do love having you here, you know?"

"I know, Mum, thanks," Ron bid her off with a nod before traipsing up the stairs two at a time, making sure to skip the steps that creaked and the one with a cracked board that everyone was too lazy to fix.

It wasn't exceptionally hard to find which bedroom his children decided to camp out in this evening; all he had to do was follow the sounds of Hugo's cackling and Rose's hiccups.

"This doesn't sound like the dulcet sleep-sounds of snoozing children," Ron sang, not bothering to knock at the door of Bill and Charlie's old bedroom before opening it to lean inside.

"Surpri— Charlie?" Ron blinked, but his second oldest brother remained where he sat at the end of his old bed, which happened to contain both Hugo and Rosie.

"Surprise yourself," Charlie grinned, waving at his youngest brother. "You've interrupted story time, you know."

Ron pursed his lips, wishing his family members would stop trying to purposefully annoy him.

"Is that so?" Ron said, sternly watching as Hugo's face fell guiltily and Rosie avoided eye contact at all costs. "Well don't let me interrupt. Even if Granny Weasley sent them to bed two hours ago."

"She thinks I'm still at Ginny's," Charlie said, sending him a snarky smile that twisted the scars and burns ever-present on his face. "I'd say mum's the word but it's a bad pun."

"Like that ever stopped you before," Ron rolled his eyes, entering the room fully and closing the door behind him. "What sort of stories has your Uncle Charlie told you thus far?"

"Last month a Romanian Longhorn dragon wanted to play Quidditch with him and made him a human Snitch," Hugo piped up, any guilt quick to evaporate in his excitement. "And the week before that a Herbivore Black—"

"Hebridean," Rosie corrected.

"Wish he _was_ an herbivore," Charlie muttered.

"Yeah, a Hebridean Black tried to make a sandwich out of him. That's why he's got a stub for a finger."

"Ouch," Ron winced sympathetically.

"That's what I said when it happened!" Charlie grinned like an idiot, which made Ron roll his eyes again. "How about a dear old Dad story, eh kiddies?" He winked at Ron. "I bet you'd love that!"

Rosie and Hugo collectively groaned at the offer.

"Now don't be like that," Charlie chastised, but any serious effect was lost when he wagged his stubby finger at them. "Daddy Dearest has a million amazing stories. Go ahead, Ronnie; dazzle us!"

Ron rested his chin on his hand, thinking of what story would be appealing both to his children and his brother.

"No more dragon stories," Hugo requested, flinching at the scowl Charlie threw his way.

"You can never have too many dragon stories!" Charlie thumped the mattress beneath him hard.

"No dragons," Ron nodded, glancing at his brother. "I've got no dragon story to top yours."

"No you don't," Charlie said, appearing mollified. "Got any good Chimaera stories? I'm distinctly lacking in those."

"How about how you and Mum met?" Rosie asked, looking hopeful.

"How about no," Hugo gagged. "I vote for the Chimaera!"

"Fresh out of those I'm afraid," Ron cracked his knuckles before squeezing a seat for himself on the rather occupied bed. "I've got a pretty good mythical sea creature story though."

"A nice subject for a bedtime story," Charlie nodded his approval.

Both children laughed at the joke so Ron surged forward.

* * *

"Oh, come on Ron, don't be such a baby!"

Ron's eyes were filled with tears but he wiped them away stubbornly with the frayed edge of his coat. The fabric scraped the welt on his left cheek and unbidden tears sprang to his eyes once again. He blinked them away this time, ignoring the blood that trailed down from the offending injury.

"Let'm go," George's crow echoed behind him and he stifled a sniffle. "A lesson learned for wee Ronnie."

His and Fred's laughter chased him and he sprinted down the hill, embarrassed and hurt. He didn't stop running until he was forced to, when his path was cut off by a stream.

He glared at the body of water as if it had offended him rather than his twin brothers. Looking at his feet, he found a sizable stone and threw it as hard as he could into the water. He did it twice more, grunting with effort on the last throw.

"I'd be careful, if I were you," a sing-song voice drifted towards him, as if it were being carried on the water.

Ron turned to glance upstream, surprised to find a small blonde girl wearing a pale blue dress that matched her eyes and large, bright red Wellington boots. She was holding a fishing rod and looked like a phantom with the fog rolling in behind her.

"You'll wake up the Loch Ness Monster," she finished her warning, seeming unfazed by the cold breeze that pulled at her frilly dress.

Ron frowned at the odd girl, taking in both her appearance and words.

"Doesn't he live in Scotland?" Ron finally spoke up, not sure he wanted to offend her.

"My father says _she _migrates for the winter," she clarified.

She turned to the stream and cast the line of her fishing pole out.

"Aren't you cold?" Ron asked, noticing her bare knees and lack of coat.

"Aren't you warm?" she asked in reply, eying his red cheeks.

Ron watched her, feeling a bit nervous, as he removed his coat and held it out to her. She took it, sticking her arms in the sleeves.

"You're wearing it backwards," he said when she pulled the sleeves on all the way, snuggling the back of the coat to her face.

"It feels like a hug this way."

Ron stayed still, watching her nervously. He was already regretting giving her his coat.

"Are you trying to catch it?" he asked.

"Catch what?" her large eyes turned to him, as if surprised he was still there.

"A cold," Ron huffed sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "The Loch Ness Monster."

"No, neither of those things," she replied. "There's a system in place to catch the Loch Ness Monster. First you start by catching a large trout or cod, then use that to catch a sea serpent, and then a sea serpent to catch Nessie."

"A sea serpent," Ron deadpanned.

"Yes."

"Will your pole support a sea serpent?"

The girl thought about that for a moment, watching her bobber in the water and swaying on the spot. Ron eyed her warily, not sure if she were seriously contemplating the question or doing a superb job at duping him.

"I've reinforced the line," she said eventually. "And if it's a young sea serpent I should be able to reel it in on my own."

"And what part of this Loch Ness Monster Catching System are you on then?"

"Catch trout," she said, then thought about it and shrugged. "Or cod."

She seemed to grow inpatient and brought the line in, found a new area to occupy, and cast out the line once more.

"Have we met before?" Ron asked, feeling as if he should know a girl this bizarre living in town.

"Possibly," she said, keeping her gaze on her bobber. "Have the Trencher twins been bullying you too?"

"The who?"

"Those muggle boys who live in…" she fumbled to a stop, as if realizing she had let something slip.

It took Ron a few moments to realize that she had.

"You're a witch?" Ron asked in as straightforward a manner as possible.

It was the first time that the small girl displayed an emotion other than spacey, but Ron didn't necessarily feel comfortable in seeing the fear on her face.

"I'm a wizard myself," Ron grinned brightly, jabbing his thumb in his chest to try and alleviate her nerves. "I go to Hogwarts next fall."

She still appeared flighty, but made eye contact with those blue haunting orbs.

"I've another year to wait, myself," was her whispered answer.

"All my brothers go already," Ron continued. "All in Gryffindor, too. I'll probably end up there. You know where you're likely to go?"

Just as the little girl was about to answer, a loud splash and shouting echoed throughout the foggy space around them.

"Hey, it's that Loony girl!" a tall boy appeared from behind a large tree. Ron didn't like the smirk that was on his face. "Whatcha up to, Loony? Fishing for some friends?"

The girl's pale face suddenly flooded with a bright blush. Ron didn't make a move; he wouldn't leave but didn't want to pick a fight with a kid who had to be close to Percy's age. The boy was at least a foot taller than him and Ron didn't fancy adding to his injuries list.

"Hey Loony!" a second boy appeared, nearly identical in looks to the first. "Long time no see. That's a mighty pretty dress you're wearing."

Ron had to wonder if the pair hadn't practiced those creepy grins on each other to make them that perfectly unsettling.

"That was a compliment, Loony; manners say you should thank Timmy," the first boy said, strolling over to the girl.

"Thank you," she flushed darker, keeping her gaze downcast.

"Why don't you keep walking," Ron finally spoke up, feeling residual anger from his altercation with Fred and George earlier crop up.

"Why Loony, looks like you _did_ wrangle yourself a friend!" Timmy feigned surprise, joining his brother's side. "Can you believe it, Tommy?"

"First she's ever had, I imagine," Tommy scoffed.

"Wow, your names are Tommy and Timmy?" Ron jeered, unable to stop the surge of protectiveness he felt towards the girl. "I hope they're family names; I'd hate to think your parents were just too lazy to bother naming two kids."

"Go take a hike, ya git," Timmy scowled over at him. "Unless you want us to decorate your face some more."

"My brothers said it needed some help," Ron smiled wider. Bill had taught him a long time ago that the best way to verbally spar with a bully was to make fun of yourself before they could. "If you just wanna go for the right side and even me out, it'd be doing me a favor."

Ron wondered if Fred and George's hit hadn't caused him brain damage; he struggled to dredge up an adequate reason as to why he was instigating these bullies to protect the weirdest little girl he'd ever met.

"I'll do you a favor," Tommy strode forward. Ron didn't like the fact that it only took four mighty steps to be right in front of him. "Get out of here and I won't hurt you. There's your favor."

"If you'd just hit me and leave, that'd do me a greater favor. The less my friend and I and, frankly, any other human being with working eyes see of you two, the better."

It wasn't a great surprise to anyone present (aside from Loony, perhaps), when the punch landed a second later. Ron fell onto his back, face stinging fiercely.

"I said go for the _right _side!" Ron didn't back down, even from his compromising position. "Geez, didn't someone teach you the difference between left and right, or were the few brain cells you share too busy trying to remember your names?"

"Leave him alone!" Loony shouted, but Tommy ignored her as he hauled Ron back up to his feet by the front of his jumper.

"Get out of here, you little twerp!" Tommy shoved him, treating Ron as less of a threat and more of a pest.

Ron stumbled but kept on his feet.

"You shouldn't have done that," Ron said dangerously.

"What're you gonna do about it?" Timmy sneered, coming to stand at his brother's side once more.

"JACK!" Ron shouted at the top of his voice.

The twins looked at each other nervously, but when nothing happened they cackled before advancing on the redhead.

"_JACK_!"

Suddenly, from out of nowhere sprung a creature most vicious. It had the head of a mighty lion with blood-covered teeth, the body of a goat, and a long dangerous dragon tail trailing behind it. Both bullies screamed in utter terror and Loony fainted on the spot by the riverbank.

"Attack, Jack!" Ron urged the beast onwards.

Jack roared, blood spraying over the quivering brothers, before launching itself right at the still teens—

* * *

"And then Jack the Chimaera swallowed Tommy and Timmy and the weird little girl _whole_—!"

"Hugo!" Ron shouted, clearly consternated that his story had been hijacked by his son. "I said no Chimaeras in this story."

"Just thought I'd try to give it some appeal," Hugo shrugged.

"I thought it was a good effort, squirt," Charlie flicked the end of his nose with his half-finger.

Ron leaned forward to pinch playfully at Hugo's arm. He squealed, digging into his sister's side for protection.

"Now, as I was saying, before I was so _rudely_ interrupted…"

* * *

"Why don't you open you ears, you great prat!" Ron shouted, wincing at the pain radiating from the left side of his face. "I'm not going anywhere! And, for the love of Merlin, can you aim for the right side this time?"

"You really are an idiot, aren't you?" it was Timmy's turn to approach him. "What's wrong with you?"

"I really am an idiot with an asymmetrical face at the moment," Ron said, as if it were a mundane announcement. "And the only thing wrong with me is that you're picking on a little girl who's like half your age and with more smarts than the both of you combined."

"We're good friends with Loony, you little troll," Tommy stepped forward menacingly. The way he said _friends _made it sound more threatening than the gesture of cracking his knuckles, which he did a moment later. "We could be _your _friend instead, though; you seem very keen on winning us over."

"You could tie a steak around your necks and still wouldn't find a dog in town to be friends with you," Ron rose to his feet once more, willing to get a few more good verbal jabs in before these kids physically killed him. "I'm not even sure how you put up with each other, really."

"Oh, he's there, Tommy," Timmy marched forward, looking particularly fearsome. Ron held his ground even when his brain was screaming at him to run far away. "He's about to become my _best_ friend."

"Don't tell your mum; it'll break her heart," Ron couldn't help the insult slide past his lips. Honestly, he couldn't help it with a setup like that.

Timmy's fist hit true, and Ron was on his back for the second time in as many minutes. His ears were ringing but he smiled up at the two bullies towering over him.

"_Thank _you," he didn't move from his spot, but continued grinning at the now confused twins. "Finally got the right side of my face. Bit sad to think of how long it took to get to this point."

Bit sad that it _got _to this point, Ron couldn't help but think. He hoped Loony had run off back to her house or whatever strange dwelling she inhabited. And he _really _hoped Fred and George weren't the ones to find his body. These idiotic Trencher twins might murder him, but the only twins Ron feared were the ones that lived under his own roof, and it was unpleasant to think of the many ways they would use and abuse his corpse.

"It's so hard to find good thugs these days," he finished, his famous last words.

"Oh, you've found 'em," Tommy sneered.

"No! Don't hurt him!"

Everyone ignored Loony and Ron frantically dodged Timmy's leg when it swung out at his side. Unfortunately Tommy's foot was waiting on the other side and Ron grunted when it connected with his arm.

"Please don't! Please stop it!"

They didn't; Tommy grabbed the back of Ron's shirt and lifted him bodily. He held the abused redhead by the arms and Timmy smirked, taking his sweet time and relishing his victim's predicament.

"Any last words, _best friend_?"

"I've already said them, and now you've ruined that moment for me," Ron spat, annoyed at how long this was taking. Fred and George would've been done and gone for a broom ride by now.

"Weird choice," Timmy actually appeared perplexed for a moment before sinking his fist into Ron's unprotected stomach.

Ron hissed, drawing his knees up on reflex, but Tommy held on firmly. It wasn't surprising, given the fact that the kid was the size of a troll.

"Stop it! _Stop_!"

When Timmy pulled his fist back, readying himself for round two, Ron shut his eyes. He had a suspicious feeling it was going to go as well as round one had.

"_STOP_!"

The hairs on the back of Ron's neck stood up and a chill ran down his spine. He blinked his eyes open and gaped in surprise.

Timmy was in the river.

"What the…" Tommy appeared as dumbfounded as the redhead. The twin held on for a moment in stunned silence before promptly dropping him.

"You're a freak, Loony!" he shouted out as he rushed over to the water, not really fancying jumping in after him considering how cold it was.

"Come on!" the blonde little girl appeared before him, looking frantic, still wearing his threadbare coat backwards. She reached down and tugged at his uninjured arm. "Come, please!"

"You threw that kid in the river," Ron stated, not sure he was able to get over the fact even as he stood painfully and ran away with her from the scene. "You _threw _him in the _river_."

"I didn't mean to!" the girl wailed, close to tears. "It was an accident, I swear it!"

"Are you kidding? That was _wicked_!"

The smile that wanted to break out on Ron's face turned into a painful grimace. Those Trencher twins really had evened his face out nicely.

"Thanks," she gave a sad smile at seeing him hurt.

They ran for a few more minutes, until certain they were far enough away that they felt safe.

"I'm sorry," Ron panted out, wincing when he tested his punched stomach with gentle fingers. "About what those bullies said. I hope they don't bug you for that."

"If they do I'll toss them in the river again," she replied so seriously Ron stopped in the middle of a laugh to nod, mostly to boost her confidence. "They were very mean to you and I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault, I literally asked for it," he rubbed his arm self-consciously. If his entire head weren't pulsating so acutely he would wonder if the last 10 minutes had all been a very elaborate daydream.

"I better get home before my dad worries about me," she said, taking off his jacket and holding it out for him to take.

Ron grabbed it and she turned to leave, as if the whole underage magic, Loch Ness Monster, bully-infested incident hadn't been the most exciting part of her day.

Then again…perhaps it hadn't. She _had _been fishing for the Loch Ness Monster, after all. Who knew what kind of mythical creature she had been after before breakfast.

"You forgot your fishing pole," he called after her, noticing her bare hands.

"I don't need it anymore," she cried out, not stopping.

"Why not?"

She turned on the spot abruptly, eyes impossibly wide as she took in his battered appearance.

"I've got something better."

"Better than the Loch Ness Monster?"

"Better, yes."

"What's better than the Loch Ness Monster?" Ron asked incredulously.

She seemed to struggle as she swayed on the spot, making her dress swish by her knees. A soft blush was forming on her face as she broke into a shy grin.

"A friend."

Ron opened his mouth, not quite sure what to say, but he ran out of time. She squealed before rushing away in her bright red boots, making Ron feel as perplexed in her parting as he had on her arrival.

It took a solid minute of standing there, still open-mouthed, before realizing he hadn't even learned her real name.

* * *

"Who was she, Dad?" Rosie asked when the story was completed.

"Was she a ghost?" Hugo rose an eyebrow suspiciously and crossed his arms.

"It was Luna, and no she wasn't a ghost," Ron rolled his eyes at the suggestion.

"No way," Charlie's mouth dropped and his eyes looked distinctly Luna-like as he gazed at Ron before breaking out in fits of undignified laughter. "That crazy little girl was Luna Lovegood?"

"Who's Luna Lovegood?' Rosie asked, looking alarmed at her cackling uncle.

"Luna Scamander," Ron cleared up the confusion. "Auntie Luna, you know."

"That crazy little girl was Auntie Luna?" it was Hugo's turn to burst out laughing. "That's so weird!"

"Yes, it was all very _weird_," Ron said, rising from his spot on the crowded bed. "A very accurate explanation, if I do say so myself. And with that rather _weird _story out of the way, and considering the fact that it is midnight and your mum would kill me if she knew you were up this late, it is time for bed."

"Aw, come on, tell us more Auntie Luna stories," Hugo pleaded, knowing his father's ultimate weak spot.

Ron teetered on the edge of proper parenting and the proper storytelling technique of the few Luna stories he had in his arsenal before Charlie stood to intervene.

"Sorry kiddies, but your Uncle Charlie has been a poor influence on your father and it's time I put him to bed."

"Can I tell you a story before you tuck me in?" Ron asked in a saccharine tone that made both his children giggle uncontrollably.

"Isn't it normally the other way around?" Charlie slapped a powerful arm on his brother's shoulder and steered him towards the door.

"It's like you don't know me at all," Ron huffed. "Good night, my children."

"Night Dad!" brother and sister got out between fits of laughter.

"Good night, my niece and nephew," Charlie said melodramatically, forcing Ron into a bow before performing one himself. "It has been an honor and a privilege regaling you with our stories tonight."

"I don't know what that _means_—!" Hugo got out as Charlie and Ron left the bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

They looked to each other with smug grins and shook each other's hands in a congratulatory manner.

"Always nice having you around, Charlie," Ron said, taking to the stairs.

"Always nice hearing you got your arse handed to you by some bratty Muggles," Charlie chortled, squeezing his brother's shoulder.

"It had its…benefits."

"What kind of…" Charlie drifted off, looking as if an epiphany had just struck him. "You told Mum it was Fred and George who did that to you!"

Ron grinned impishly and practically marched down the steps with glee, not bothering to skip the squeaky ones. Charlie elbowed him in the ribs on their way.

"She was so mad at them; they had a chores list a mile long for a month!" Charlie exclaimed in awe.

"They deserved it; they threw angry bowtruckles at my face!"

"Remind me not to get on ickle Ronnie's bad side!"

Ron made to head towards his own bedroom, which happened to be Percy's old one, but was halted by Charlie's broad arm linking with his own.

"Come take a walk with me, brother of mine," he drawled, practically forcing him down into the living room. "We need to have a discussion."

"Sounds serious," Ron smirked, taking a seat on the couch.

"It's about Harry."

Ron stared at his second oldest brother, whose expression turned uncharacteristically grave.

"Please don't hurt me," Ron held up his hands defensively. "Even with half a finger missing I'm still certain you could seriously maim me."

"I _know_ I could seriously maim you, but I'm not going to hurt you. Harry, on the other hand, needs some serious sense beaten into him. Ginny and I have concocted a new plan."

"Oh boy," Ron sighed, not sure whatever this plan was would be a better idea than having Charlie attack him. "The criminal masterminds of the family; I can hardly wait to hear it."

"It's quite ingenious, actually," Charlie's eyes lit up in amusement once more, and Ron was glad to see it. "Get every member of the family to confront him about ignoring you, then hold him down while you have a nice reconciling chat."

"No, I was wrong, I think I could've waited to hear that," Ron rubbed his eyes. "I'm not sure how you didn't lose your entire hand if this is your ingenious idea of conflict resolution."

"We're ready to implement the plan the second Harry returns from his mission, Ronnie. There's no point in fussing over it now, so stiff upper lip, eh?"

He took a glance at the family clock hanging on the wall and rose an eyebrow when Ron frowned. Harry's hand was ticking idly between _Home_ and _Mortal Peril_.

"See? Ginny's probably shouting at him as we speak. Poor stiff. If he weren't being a git I'd feel bad for him. No one really deserves our sister's tirade.

"Now you sit tight, ickle Ronniekins; once Harry is properly restrained I will call for you."

Charlie waved cheekily before Flooing over to Harry and Ginny's home. Ron felt exasperated; he was mostly annoyed by this unwanted familial devotion, he wasn't anticipating a talk with Harry in front of an audience, and he _definitely _didn't want that audience to consist of Charlie and Ginny, easily his most hot-headed siblings.

He slouched forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. Closing his eyes, he wondered how upset Charlie might get if he decided to go to bed instead of wait for his inevitable return.

He jumped when said older brother was spit out of the fireplace a minute later. So much for his brilliant escape plan.

"Little bugger wasn't there," Charlie explained his sudden return. "Guess we'll have to save the reunion for tomorrow, eh?"

"Does Ginny know where he's at?" Ron asked, an inkling of concern worming its way into his heart.

"Before this whole mess started I'd say your house. Now I've gotta guess at one of the many Weasleys who want a piece of him," he replied with a wink, jutting his thumb at the clock. "I'm off to let Mum and Dad know I'm still lurking about their house."

"At this hour?" an unsettling feeling was beginning to form in Ron's gut.

"They'll worry otherwise. They often forget the fact that all of their children are grown adults who have been able to take care of themselves for the past quarter of a century."

"Not about Mum and Dad," Ron said. "I mean about Harry. You really think he's with Bill, Percy, or George at this time of night?"

"Morning," Charlie corrected, pointing at the clock that read ten after midnight. The expression on his face, though, seemed to fall in concern. "You want to go look for him?"

"I have a bad feeling," Ron confided, looking back to Harry's hand on the family clock. "I think he's at my house."

"Why on earth would he go there?"

Ron chewed on his bottom lip anxiously, thinking. His mind, which was so ready for sleep a few minutes ago, now felt in overdrive.

"What did Ginny say when you talked to her?"

"That he never showed up for dinner. But he's been on that mission all week, so she assumed it'd been extended."

Ron thought about what Nigel had told him earlier, that Harry had run into trouble during his mission, and about what he knew so well about his best friend, that he never failed before to send an owl to his boss, wife, and best friend if he was running late.

He had initially felt insulted at thinking he was the only one left out of the Harry Potter updates, but now that he knew Ginny hadn't received word from him either, all he felt was exceedingly sick, especially when his parents' never-fail clock continued ticking Harry's hand stolidly between _Home _and _Mortal Peril_.

"I know that face," Charlie said. "Bad things tend to happen when you make that face, Ron."

Ron shook his head, his stomach in knots. Everything about the situation screamed impending doom, and Ron didn't really like to think about how often in the past year alone that he had felt that way. Instead of voicing his thoughts, however, he repeated the basest statement his mind would supply.

"I have a bad feeling."

* * *

**A/N: **This whole chapter just got out of hand. Seriously, seriously out of hand. Cameos GALORE, Ron has become a human punching bag, my first Luna dialogue attempt, and a horrible cliffhanger that's bound to make you all upset with me. Not to mention the fact that this chapter is looooong! Not as long as last chapter, but still looooong!

And so soon after birthday drama you get post-birthday drama. What a fun chapter I leave you with.

A special thanks to those (many of you) who have taken to favoriting my story or myself recently. It seems every day this week I've opened up my inbox to find someone new is following and/or favoriting. You guys are great! I hope this chapter makes your day like your favoriting and reviewing makes mine!

I've got finals on the horizon (in like two weeks), and as soon as those have been surmounted get ready for the next chapter! I can't leave you with a cliffhanger this mean for too long! I love you guys too much for that!

Until the next time then!

~dieselwriter


	31. House

**A/N: **I'll spare you my usual emotional gobbledygook in favor of getting to the story faster. In case you forgot that nasty cliffhanger I left you off with last chapter, here's a gentle reminder:

_Previously, on Tales_:

"I know that face," Charlie said. "Bad things tend to happen when you make that face, Ron."

Ron shook his head, his stomach in knots. Everything about the situation screamed impending doom, and Ron didn't really like to think about how often in the past year alone that he had felt that way. Instead of voicing his thoughts, however, he repeated the basest statement his mind would supply.

"I have a bad feeling."

* * *

**The Tales of Weasley the Father  
****By dieselwriter**

**Chapter 31: The (Untold) Tales of House**

Charlie sat on the coffee table casually, staring at his younger brother with a somber expression.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know," Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Then what do you _think _is going on?"

"I…I really don't know," Ron's thoughts were traveling too fast to keep track of, but one insidious and rather persistent fact remained glued to the forefront of his mind. "Bastard threw that letter in my _kitchen_!"

"I may need more information than that to keep up with the conversation," Charlie stated, crossing his arms tightly across his chest.

With a heavy sigh, Ron told his brother how Travis Scabior had sent threatening letters to the Minister of Magic, how each demanded the release of Death Eaters from Azkaban in exchange for preventing an attack on innocent witches and wizards at a location hinted at in each threat, how Ron had the misfortune at being at both locations Scabior had previously targeted, and how he (with some serious assistance from their nephew James) had conveniently thwarted both attacks.

"And now he tied his most recent threat to a brick and personally delivered it to _my _house by throwing it through _my _kitchen window."

"That might have been too much information," Charlie shook his head to clear it. "So you think this guy's targeting you?"

Ron hesitated a moment, knowing in his gut what his answer was but still apprehensive as to what it meant for his best friend.

"…Yes."

"You think he got Harry somehow and is now waiting for you at your house."

Ron nodded once, eyes on the family clock. Harry's hand was still swinging wildly between _Home_ and _Mortal Peril_.

"We've gotta go."

"That's mad," Charlie blanched at his brother's sudden abruptness. "Let's call for back up."

"Can't," Ron shook his head sadly, meeting Charlie's eyes. "The second he thinks something's up he'll do a runner. I can't risk Harry like that. It's gotta be me and you, Charlie. You and your silent Apparitions; it's a very enviable skill."

Charlie gave a grim smile at hearing his own facetious boast be thrown back at him.

"This is insane, Ron."

"Story of my life."

"You've got two kids right upstairs—"

"Don't! _Don't_…" Ron pointed a shaking finger at his brother. "Harry's got _three_ waiting for him to come home. Any decision I make affects more than just Hermione, Rose, and Hugo."

"So this has nothing to do with the fact that Harry's your best friend and you feel responsible for him being in this situation?"

"Does it matter?" Ron huffed indignantly to interrupt that line of guilt-laden conversation. "We have to do this Charlie. It's the best chance we've got at getting him back tonight."

"This morning," Charlie corrected, sneaking a peak at the clock once more. "This is insane, you know."

A small smile broke out across Ron's face.

"You want in?"

"Of course I do," Charlie shook his head at the need for the question. "Can't very well let you do it alone, and you'll do it with or without me."

"Sorry," Ron shrugged, not denying the fact.

"Should I tell Mum and Dad then?"

"Leave a note; they'll talk us out of it if we wake them up."

"Right, all right," Charlie sighed and stood, heading toward the kitchen to grab a spare bit of parchment and a quill to leave a note of explanation for the bizarre situation they were in.

Ron's head was buzzing from the late night adrenaline rush and his stomach was churning with worry and guilt. By the time he grabbed his wand and cloak Charlie was ready to go. They headed out into the backyard to prevent waking any of the sleeping inhabitants of the Burrow.

"Hey Charlie," Ron hesitated, scuffing the grass under his toe. "Thanks for this."

"Any time, little brother," Charlie slapped him on the back supportively. "I just hope we find an empty house."

"I wish Harry'd pop around the corner and laugh at us for jumping to the worst conclusion possible," Ron nodded.

"We are a couple of worrywarts, aren't we?"

Ron cracked another smile.

"You have a plan?" Charlie continued.

"He wants to talk to me," Ron supplied, "so I'll keep him busy while you scope out the scene. If Harry's there you grab him, and if he's not you're my secret weapon when I come up with a better plan."

"So…we're winging it."

"That's about the gist of it."

"This is sounding more and more like a plan George would throw together," Charlie muttered.

"Just…" Ron stuttered, not quite meeting his older brother's eyes, "just make sure that if Harry and I are both in a spot, you get Harry out of there. I'll have a wand; I'll be fine."

"You want me to put Harry first?"

The pause following the simple question was filled with the sounds of a night owl hooting in the distance.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah I do."

Charlie shoved him affectionately, but even a light-hearted shove from the dragon tamer still sent Ron stumbling.

"Then I'll drag him out of there kicking and screaming if I have to," the older brother promised. "It's good to see your time at the Auror Academy was spent coming up with these ingenious half-assed plans."

"Hey, I excelled in Emergency Planning Class, I'll have you know."

"Sounds like we're the most qualified for the job then. Come on, let's find our favorite brother-in-law."

"Technically our only brother-in-law," Ron rolled his eyes.

Charlie turned on the spot and Disapparated without a sound while elbowing Ron in the gut in one fluid movement.

"Giant…graceful…nine-and-a-half fingered git," Ron winced, hunching over slightly to catch his breath.

Ron took a moment to compose himself from the unexpected brotherly blow before following after Charlie. He cringed when his arrival was announced with a _Crack! _that his frayed nerves assumed was loud enough to wake every neighbor he had on Knightstone Drive.

"Took you long enough," Charlie whispered from his side a moment later, making him jump. He looked on at the ominous back of the house and grimaced. "Nice menacing house you've got here."

Ron smiled all the same; he was blessed it was Charlie by his side. Most of his siblings ignored the authority his title as Auror held. Ginny was by far the worst at it; if she had been there with him instead there was no doubt that she would have rushed the house without him.

Charlie, on the other hand, had not only listened to his inane, paranoid thoughts about the missing Harry, but he then decided to join in on his mini rescue mission with barely a second thought.

"We try," Ron muttered out of the side of his mouth, barely loud enough to be heard.

Charlie just nodded up at the house, wand out and ready to follow his lead. Ron squeezed his brother's broad shoulder in thanks and reassurance before heading up the back steps of his home. He cast a non-verbal _Alohomora _on the lock and entered into the house for the first time in two months, when Travis Scabior's last threat had left a brick-shaped hole in his kitchen window.

There was something wrong; Ron could tell it the second he walked across the threshold. He paused, trying to identify his source of discomfiture. It didn't take him long to find the problem: a soft orange light spilled into the hallway from the living room, and a crackling sound could be heard beyond. Someone had started a fire (Ron sincerely hoped it was contained in the fireplace), and the Auror didn't have much doubt in who the culprit was.

He walked slowly down the hallway, taking in the details he didn't realize he missed so much. Ron wasn't sure if his fight with and current worry over Harry was making him sentimental or if he really had such an attachment to the place. All he did know was that the sight of a scorch mark in the wall left by a late night house made up of Exploding Snap cards that got out of hand should not cause a lump to form in his throat.

* * *

"Hugo."

"What?"

"I know that look. I am warning you now, as your father: _Do. Not. Sneeze_."

"I have a look? A _sneezing_ look?" Hugo looked mortally offended. "I'm insulted."

"Your eyes are watering and your nose keeps twitching and it's the same face you've made before you destroyed the last five houses."

Hugo jutted his chin out defiantly as a robe- and pajama-clad Hermione entered the hallway.

"How long was I in the shower for?" she muttered faintly, quickly realizing that the house of Exploding Snap cards her husband and children had been working on a half hour ago now extended from the living room into the hallway.

"We got lucky," Ron said, throwing his son a withering glance while in the process of laying down another card carefully. "Hugo's last sneeze only took out the section by the mantle, so we were able to rebuild and expand out into the hall."

"Where's Rosie?" she asked, peaking out over the card-roof into the living room.

A small hand peaked out from a hole in the roof by the couch.

"I'm the snap technician, Mum; I can't be distracted!"

"You're the what now?" Hermione looked dumbfounded as her daughter's hand disappeared once more into the card house that really could be defined as a card mansion at this point.

"Snap technician!" Hermione turned when Hugo appeared quite suddenly at her side to explain. "Rosie's gotta make continuous runs throughout the house and replace any cards that look ready to snap."

"How can you tell that?"

"They start smoking at the edges."

Hermione eyed her living room again in apprehension before addressing her son.

"And what is your job?"

"His job is to get that cold under control!" Ron called over to the pair. "I'd make him a snap technician too but he's got that sneezing look about him right now."

"If I blow my nose can I join Rosie?" Hugo pleaded to his father.

Ron appraised him a moment with a serious expression on his face, as if sizing up one of the Junior Aurors instead of his own son. But when Hugo flashed him a broad smile Ron caved.

"Yes, all right, blow your nose and get your orders from your sister."

Hugo mock saluted him before running to the kitchen for a tissue.

Hermione shook her head in exasperation. It was only her family that could turn a sick day activity like building a card house into something so unnecessarily elaborate.

"C'mon, Hermione, I could use another architect over here."

"Architects and snap technicians," Hermione laughed at the absurdity even as she joined Ron on the floor of the hallway, grabbing a few of the playing cards herself. "Imagine all that we could accomplish if we put this sort of effort into something constructive."

"Constructing is constructive," Ron smiled cheekily at her. "We're making Hugo feel better about being sick."

The proof of Ron's statement came a second later as Hugo ripped around the hallway corner and slid on his knees to crawl inside the card house.

"You be careful out there, snap technician," Ron said, tipping an imaginary hat to him.

Hugo turned to respond and Ron's jaw slackened.

"Hugo, don't you _dare_—"

Hermione appeared confused until she caught a glance at Hugo's contorted face.

"_No_!"

Hugo buried the sneeze in the crook of his elbow and his parents froze fearfully. Approximately five seconds passed before they let out of a sigh of relief.

But it was seven seconds after the first sneeze that the second sneeze hit, and it was three seconds after that when the first Exploding Snap card detonated, setting off a chain of destruction that left no card free from harm and no face free from soot.

Ron stood in the remains of their achievement, helping Hermione to her feet and holding his son close to him, looking at his charred hallway like a man who had survived something far more catastrophic than the loss of a card house. Rosie ascended out of the ashes in the living room, easily the sootiest out of all of them. Her bright blue eyes stood out starkly against the grime on her face as she turned to her brother.

"Bless you."

* * *

Taking a steadying breath, Ron entered his living room, wand tight in his grasp.

It wasn't any sort of surprise to find Travis Scabior, ex-Death Eater and near the top of the Auror's Most Wanted Wizards list, reclined in an armchair in a shadowy corner of the room. In fact, his initial reaction was relief at finding a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace and nowhere else.

Well, Ron may admit to some form of delayed shock that kept him from entering the room a tad longer than normal. Hard not to when the current bane of your existence is sitting in _your _chair sipping tea out of one of _your _mugs. One he had gotten for Father's Day, judging by the cartoonish doodles of himself and his children painted on the sides.

"Auror Weasley," Scabior addressed him seriously, leaning forward so that what little of his face Ron could see by the firelight was thrown in starker contrast with the shadows.

Ron glanced around the room slowly, heart still racing. Nothing, apart from the wanted criminal, seemed out of place. The couch was still facing the fireplace with a coffee table in between, his armchair was still nestled in the corner of the room, the drapes still hung in front of the window, and his pictures were still up on the mantle.

The only real problem he had with the room was the fact that Scabior was there and Harry was not.

"Where's Harry?" Ron took a small step into the room to get a better view of it. It didn't really matter though; his best friend was nowhere to be found.

Scabior leaned back, his frame disappearing into shadow.

"Safe, for now."

Ron grit his teeth at the implied threat but remained resolute.

"This isn't a game I'm going to play with you," he said. "I need to know Harry's okay before we discuss anything."

Scabior put the mug down and stood up abruptly. Ron had feared for a moment he had come across as too demanding but then Scabior stepped into the light of the fire and a bit of panic overtook him instead at the sight.

This was a Travis Scabior Ron hadn't met in Diagon Alley that fateful Christmas over a year ago. That Scabior was scared, gaunt, and broken.

The man before him now still had his silver servant's hand, a wild tangle of hair, a twitching left eye, and an outfit that made some of the bums on Knockturn Alley seem posh by comparison. But this Scabior, the one standing before him at the moment, was a wizard Ron feared far more than the one he had met prior. This one had a calm look on his face, observant eyes, and a far healthier, albeit still dirty, pallor.

At some point between their past meeting and now, something inside Travis Scabior had changed. This was a new enemy that Ron didn't know anything about and definitely didn't want to get to know.

"What did you wanna discuss?" Scabior didn't make another move; he just stood in the light of the fire and kept watching him.

"Harry," the name was on Ron's lips before he could think of anything else to say. And after it was out, he found he had nothing more to say.

"You keep talkin' about Potter like 'e ain't 'ere."

Scabior withdrew his wand in a swift motion and Ron stiffened, tightening his own grip on his weapon. But the wizard flicked the wand at the floor, muttering a relatively harmless spell.

"_Finite_!"

The air suddenly seemed thicker, more palpable, when Harry Potter suddenly appeared, right where Scabior had cast his spell. Even in the dark surrounding him, Ron could tell it was him. He was unconscious, had a brilliant black eye, and was tied up in thick black cords, but he was _there_. Alive. The relief Ron felt left him weak in the knees for a moment.

The anger he felt the moment after carried him halfway across the room before he realized what he was doing and stopped. Scabior didn't move from his spot but his wand had moved to aim at him.

"Are you ready to _discuss _now, Auror Weasley?" the dark wizard's left eye twitched.

When Ron didn't answer right away, an unsettling fury swept through Scabior's eyes. It was fleeting, but Ron had noticed and tried to quell his own anger at seeing his abused best friend tied up on the floor of his living room.

"That's my seat," Ron eventually said, eying the armchair behind Scabior.

Ron wanted that chair, for many reasons. Forcing Scabior into the firelight would aid Charlie in his efforts. Having Scabior give in to an easy demand might make him more agreeable in later negotiations.

But with a pang of nostalgia, Ron realized the main reason he really wanted that chair was, indeed, because it was _his _chair.

* * *

"_Mulloy with the Quaffle now. He streaks behind Egan to ride his slipstream down past Kerns and Horsfall. Mulloy passes to Luby just as a Bludger hits him in the arm—oh, that looks like it hurt—and Luby passes immediately to Egan. Egan takes the shot and it's—"_

A soft click and the house fell silent, if only for a moment.

"Hey," Ron shifted in the armchair, barely able to keep his bleary eyes open, "I was listening to that."

"I've been gone for over an hour and you're sitting in the exact same position as when I left," Hermione sighed, but gave up and turned the Wireless back on when Ron continued to give her a commiserable look, made all the more pathetic by an inability to keep his eyes open for longer than five seconds at a time. "This match has seriously gotten out of hand."

"It's only been, what, three days?" Ron punctuated his statement with a yawn. "Best game they've played all season."

"I bet you can't even tell me what the score is."

"—_And Luby puts it in the ring! That puts our score at…wow, 4,230 to 2,850 in the Bats' favor."_

"There you go," Ron mumbled, snuggling into his chair and blanket simultaneously.

"They're losing," Hermione frowned as she situated herself in her own chair, balancing a book in her lap.

"It's about endurance."

"And not the fact that both Seekers received pretty severe head injuries in the first hour of the game."

Ron opened up his eyes long enough to glance at his wife, partly surprised but mostly torpid.

"You were listening?"

"Of course," Hermione said offhandedly as she opened her book to start reading. "It's important to you."

The commentary of the game played on for a few more minutes, before Ron's soft snores began punctuating the living room as well. Hermione looked over at him, smiled, and delved deeper into her tome, the sound of the Chudley Cannon's abysmal Quidditch game and her fiancé's sleep sounds enveloping her.

* * *

Ron's back twinged at the brief memory, only an echo of the real pain he had suffered sleeping for as long as he had in that chair.

Scabior gave a leering smile that sent an icy chill racing straight down Ron's spine.

"My apologies," he said, lowering his head submissively. His menacing smile was still plastered on his face, though, so Ron could only take the gesture as condescension. "Please, take your seat."

The fingers on Ron's left hand twitched reflexively as Scabior dragged Harry over to the couch by the back of his cloak. Scabior didn't do anything more than keep Harry on the floor at the base of the couch before sitting down.

Ron swallowed dryly but finally did as told and found his seat within the shadows. Scabior didn't waste a moment.

"I want Greyback out of Azkaban."

Ron blinked, judging how serious the request was. Based on the fact that his left eye had yet to stop twitching, Ron did not think this conversation would end well.

"You know I can't do that," Ron did his best to appear passive and not hostile.

"One man's life for another," Scabior's head leaned forward, his mane of hair falling over his face so Ron could not read his expression. "Your mate's life."

"For a monster's freedom," Ron retorted.

"Yaxley, then."

Ron bit his tongue, despising the fact that this had now somehow turned into a haggle over Harry's fate.

"No."

"Malfoy."

Ron asked the knee-jerk question before he could stop himself.

"Which one?"

_Idiot_! a Hermione-like berating in his head began, nagging him for playing into this delusion and asking the question.

"Lucius."

"No."

"Junior, then? What's 'is name…"

"No!" Ron felt infuriated with himself at asking in the first place.

"What the 'ell!" Scabior exploded and jumped to his feet, but Ron's rage at the whole situation had boiled over.

"I won't trade a man's life for another, no matter who it is!" Ron shouted, rising out of his chair as well.

The two squared off against each other. A bead of sweat trickled uncomfortably down the back of Ron's neck. Scabior panted in exertion at keeping himself under control.

"You don't 'ave much of a choice."

Ron's stomach was churning again, and his eyes darted to Harry for a moment to make sure he was still there and as alright as the situation would allow.

He didn't look any different, lying on the floor tied up. Ron wished he were conscious to give him some decent advice, because this was rapidly devolving into a game of pushing Scabior's buttons to see what might happen.

"There was a time you didn't want anything to do with this," Ron picked his words carefully when turning his attention back to the madman.

Ron watched as Scabior stared at him intently, trying to decide what he was up to. It was an uncomfortable minute until he seemingly gave up on what he was looking for and reclaimed his seat, Ron following suit slowly.

"You probably know more about this thing than I do," Scabior said tightly, shoving out his servant's hand for Ron to make out. He looked at him and continued on when Ron responded with a noncommittal shrug. "I tried doin' nothin'. Cut my 'and off as a result."

"You're right, I do know about it," Ron contended. "You saved a girl that day. A girl who fought against Voldemort in the Second Wizarding War."

"I…" Scabior's eyes darted down to Harry and back at Ron. "I didn't do that."

"You did."

They stared at each other. Ron tried not to let his trepidation of the whole situation show on his face. Scabior seemed to struggle on what to think the entire time before lowering his head in defeat.

"There's nothin' left for me but this."

Ron briefly recognized one of the changes Scabior had made between Christmas and today. He had accepted the fate that had been dealt to him since that hand had attached to his arm during the war.

There was no more self-pity, only resolve.

"Just because you can't think of a solution doesn't mean there isn't one," Ron rushed, not liking the finality of the words.

"Bet you got an answer for everythin'," Scabior sighed, rising to his feet once more. "Sometimes there ain't an answer."

"We'll come up with something," Ron rose cautiously, mimicking Scabior.

But Scabior didn't seem to hear the response; he was slowly turning to the mantle above the fire in curiosity. He perused the dusty collection of framed photographs resting there.

"Good looking family you got 'ere Weasley."

Ron thought his heart may have stopped; certainly his blood has frozen in his veins. Scabior had his back turned to Harry. If he hadn't had his wand aimed at him, Ron would've made a run for it.

Ron prayed Charlie would take the lull in the conversation as a cue to jump in and grab Harry.

"Precious little girl," Scabior said. Ron couldn't figure out this endgame strategy yet so he said nothing, just continued standing by his chair awkwardly. "And a reader?"

Ron knew what picture Scabior was looking at. It was one that had been taken when Rose was only three. He had been holding a fussy one-year-old Hugo with one arm while pointing out things in _The Children's Guide to Fantastic Beasts_ by Rolf Scamander to Rosie with his free hand.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Ron said, unable to prevent his mind going back to that peaceful day.

* * *

"C'mon, Hugh, budge up. You don't want to go back to Azcriban, do ya?"

Hugo shoved his fist in his mouth. Whether or not he perceived Ron's half-hearted threat of being put back in his playpen (affectionately nicknamed Azcriban by Charlie after a weekend babysitting stint) was unknown.

"What's that?" Ron asked, pointing out a picture of a dragon to Rose.

"Drag'n," Rosie pulled her thumb out of her mouth to point at an illustration of another magical creature. "Whassit?"

"Kappa," Ron supplied before poking the tip of her nose. "What's that?"

"Nose," Rosie giggled, grabbing his ear with a saliva-covered thumb. "Whassit?"

"Gross," Ron grimaced at the slimy feeling, but his exaggerated expression made Rose laugh even more.

"Ear!" she answered her own question joyfully, turning Hugo's attention to the pair of them. He reached for his father's other ear with the hand that had been in his mouth.

"_Gross_!" Ron exclaimed, sticking his tongue out when Hugo made contact with a drooly hand.

"Whassit?" Rosie wrapped her small hand around Ron's thumb.

"Thumb," Ron answered, bringing up her hand to his mouth to steal a kiss. He pointed at Hugo's chest, and the baby grabbed his hand to stick in his mouth. "Who is this, Rosie?"

"Hugh!"

"And who am I?"

"Daddy!"

Ron smiled broadly at her, leaning forward to give her an affectionate kiss.

"That's my girl."

* * *

"Little girl, little boy," Scabior interrupted his thoughts with a dark chuckle. "Must be nice to 'ave one of each."

This could arguably have been one of the most uncomfortable conversations of his life. The only one that might've been in contention was the few words he had exchanged with his Yule Ball date back during the Triwizard Tournament.

"'E looks just like you," Scabior said.

"Acts just like me too."

There was a pause and Ron bit the inside of his cheek, not sure why he bothered entertaining the madman in his living room.

"Is that a good thing?" he gave a short laugh.

"Probably not," Ron found himself agreeing. "I've always been a bit of a trouble maker."

"Given where you're at right now, I can't disagree."

Ron didn't bother pointing out that the only reason he was stuck in this current situation was due to the man he was conversing with. He glanced over at Harry, hoping Charlie had gotten to him, but was disappointed at finding his friend still unconscious on the floor.

A move by Scabior brought Ron's attention back to him.

Ron saw red.

"_Bastard_!" he shouted upon finding Scabior tossing a framed photo into the fire crackling in the fireplace.

"_Crucio_!"

The spell was so sudden and unexpected that Ron's only defense was backing up, which ended in him tripping over his own chair. It was pure luck that the spell hit the armrest rather than himself. Debris, mostly in the form of fluffy couch stuffing, rained down on his head in a sad imitation of snow.

"What is _wrong _with you?!" Ron shouted out from behind the armchair. He peaked over the damaged armrest to aim his wand. "_Aguamenti_!"

Scabior's eyebrows lifted in surprise when the burst of water from Ron's wand forced him back several steps. The fire was immediately extinguished and with it the only source of light in the room, splashing the room in black and blue shadow. Despite the sudden plunge into darkness Ron could tell when Scabior dropped a picture on the floor from the tinkling sound of broken glass. Whether he did it on purpose or if it was dropped in surprise was something Ron could not determine.

"You're a pretty sensitive bloke, aren't ya?" Scabior called out in a self-satisfied tone, as if he had uncovered some well-hidden secret.

As Ron rose to his feet to face his problem head on, the moonlight shining through the window silhouetted the terror in Scabior's expression and it struck Ron to stillness. It was only present for a second, but he caught it before a mask of rage replaced it.

Ron knew where Travis Scabior was at: the point of no return. The point between having been a victim in this and becoming the villain. Between forcing to do the crime and deciding to do it. Between suffering from the pain and causing it.

Maybe he _was_ sensitive, because in that flash of a moment, Ron could relate to him. Scabior wasn't the only one to act despicably under the influence of Voldemort's magic.

"Let me help you."

Scabior retreated a step back, acting as though the sentiment had physically burned him.

"I don't need your pity."

"I want to help you," Ron advanced forward when Scabior fell back, closer to the couch. "We can figure something out."

There was a hesitation in Scabior, a wide-eyed, shocking pause; it echoed Peter Pettigrew in his final act so much that Ron held his breath, afraid the servant's hand might act on its own accord. He _really _didn't want another man to die by those metal fingers while he watched on helplessly.

"I 'ave…nothin'. You're offerin' me nothin'. This," he stumbled backwards to stand at Harry's side and pointed his wand at him, "this is all I 'ave now."

They squared off silently, and for the first time that night Ron was glad Charlie had kept out up to this point. This was a conversation that needed to happen.

"All I can offer you is a chance," Ron implored the man, who was beginning to look more and more like the broken, hysterical wizard he had met on Diagon Alley. "A chance to be that man who saves the innocent instead of hurting them."

"I can't," but the moonlight reflected off the tears swimming in Scabior's eyes. He was staring at the photograph that had fallen to the floor.

"You _were_ that man, once," Ron said. "You can be him again. Let me help you. Please."

"I…" his breathing hitched, getting trapped in his throat. A frantic heartbeat, two, passed. Then his silver hand shot out so suddenly he let out a hiccupped gasp.

The blood drained from Ron's face when, two more heartbeats later, Scabior lifted Harry bodily from the floor with his magical hand.

"This," Scabior's eyes were impossibly wide as he cried openly, his left one twitching erratically once again, "is who I am. It 'as to be this way."

And, despite the terror that made him tremble, Ron believed him. Believed that this was the path they were going to have to walk, because Ron did not know how to help this man, and Scabior did not want to help himself.

"I wish it didn't," Ron said simply. There was nothing left for him to say.

"I'm sorry."

As if realizing what he had just said, he lifted Harry further off the ground and shook him violently, threateningly. The action caused the dark haired Auror to jerk awake.

Ron didn't think he could feel any more helpless in that infinitesimal moment it took Harry to realize what was going on around him. It felt an eternity when his startled green eyes, looking nearly black in the moonlit room, landed on Ron, who felt very alone standing in the center of the room.

The brief distraction of his friend gaining consciousness wasn't lost on Scabior.

"_Crucio_!"

It took Ron a second too long to realize the jet of scarlet was aimed at himself rather than the bound Harry in Scabior's grip. The spell connected with his left shoulder and his view of the living room and any coherent thought was suddenly wiped away.

"_RON_!"

It was over as fast as it had hit him. He barely had time to let out a scream of pain before the red-hot sensation passed.

Ron's breath returned to him in panting gasps and he stared up at his ceiling in surprise. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse, and what he had just experienced couldn't relate.

It was cast without malice.

"_Ron_! What the hell is going on?!" Harry took his eyes off of his winded best friend long enough to realize who had him captive. "_You_!"

But Scabior ignored him; his frightened eyes were locked on his wand.

"You _bastard_—"

Scabior interrupted the beginning of Harry's tirade by dropping him unceremoniously on the floor. He crept forward, panting heavily, a fear-fed fire burning in his darkened eyes. But Ron was on his feet, wand in hand, defiant.

"_Stupefy_!"

"_Vulnero_!"

The spells collided in midair and exploded in a shower of sparks.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Ron retaliated, but Scabior deflected the spell with his metal hand. "_Bombarda_!"

Scabior slashed his wand and the second spell rebounded and hit the coffee table, sending splintering debris throughout the living room.

It was in the instant it took for Scabior to determine his next curse that Ron finally spotted the large shadow that was his brother making his move into the room. It would have been a welcome sight had it not diverted his attention from the madman for a second time.

"_Sectumsempra_!"

Ron made an undignified yelp and attempted to dodge the spell aimed at his heart. He paid for his distraction when the spell sliced at his shoulder before hitting the drapes behind him, which ripped to become a freshly shorn heap on the floor.

"_Depulso_!"

Ron, unsteady, felt the spell connect on his chest. Where the ex-Death Eater's earlier Unforgivable Curse barely packed a punch this one certainly did; he was lifted off his feet and when his back hit the window behind him, the glass shattered and he fell right out of it.

The air was knocked out of his lungs when he landed on his front porch. Glass shards dug into his back, making it painful when he sucked in short breaths through clenched teeth. He wasn't given nearly enough time to recuperate before Scabior shouted out: "_Accio_!"

"N—" was the half-formed exclamation Ron let out as he was magically lifted off his afflicted back (a miniscule part of him was grateful he didn't have to do the unpleasant task himself) and brought back into the house through the broken living room window.

The tenebrous surroundings and the weightlessness of his body left Ron in a state of disorientation, the only anchor available to him the wand held in the white-knuckle grip of his right hand. It only lasted a few seconds but was still preferred over the situation he eventually found himself in.

"I'm sorry," Scabior had him pinned to the floor on his back, the fingers of his right hand wrapped around Ron's throat. His magical metallic hand gripped Ron's wand hand so tightly the Auror feared he would break it like the last time they met.

"Ron! _RON_! NO! _STOP IT! STOP!_"

Ron choked, his injured back protesting every squirm of his combating body, but even through his watering eyes he could make out Charlie's bulky form leaning over to assist in freeing the still-restrained Harry. The fingers of his left hand struggled in an attempt to attack Scabior's face, but the dark wizard maneuvered so that his right knee immobilized it against the ground; his right hand held on to his wand, unable to do much else. Even oxygen deprived, he knew he needed to distract Scabior long enough for Charlie to get Harry to safety before he made his move.

"So this is it?" his voice was a hiss, but Scabior's face was right in front of his and he knew he could hear every word, even over Harry's shoutings in the background. "You're going to kill me?"

Scabior's grip didn't let up, and Ron, feeling the tendrils of panic worm their way into his heart, gave an almighty wrench of his right arm in an attempt to free itself of the vice-like grip. He was met with no success, for Scabior held on as though it cost him no energy.

"Yes," was the emotionless response. His gaze was glassy.

"NO! _STOP IT_!_ PLEASE_! RON! _I'LL KILL YOU_!" Harry was shouting, thrashing really, and Ron's wince turned into an ill-timed grin, not sure if Harry had directed that last sentiment to himself for getting into this situation, Scabior for being the instigator of it, or Charlie for ignoring it.

"You greet death so _casually_?" Scabior's question had the sharp edge of fury, but the fact that it was a question implied uncertainty. As if recognizing his own confusion, his grip on Ron's neck tightened, completely blocking the windpipe and wiping the smile clean off the Auror's rapidly purpling face.

"Stop helping me and _save_ _him_! Let me—you _bastard_! STOP!"

Scabior seemed to finally realize something was amiss and glanced over at Harry, only to watch as his hostage was forced out —very nearly carried out— of the room and into the hallway by a disheveled Charlie.

Ron again blessed the fact that it was Charlie with him, the brother who was strong enough to pull Harry to freedom and dependable enough to keep his promise to put their brother-in-law first.

"_NO_!" Scabior released Ron to chase after the escaping pair, but Ron's wand was at the ready.

Scabior had the advantage: he was fast and unharmed while Ron was on the ground and desperately gasping for air. Ron sent out a nonverbal Stinging Hex anyway. It wasn't very powerful but still had the desired effect of stopping his rampage in its tracks.

He watched as Ron scrambled to his feet, blinking fuzzy white spots out of his vision and ignoring the prickling pain that made his back feel as if it were on fire.

"This is all your fault."

Ron shrugged his uninjured shoulder, not trusting his voice. Even if he did disagree (he whole-heartedly did), there was nothing he could say to change the wizard's deluded mind.

It was a quiet moment as Scabior fingered his wand nervously and Ron studied his actions. He noted that his left eye was no longer twitching.

The demolition of the front door was the third and final distraction. It was the interference that proved costliest to Ron.

At hearing a commotion from the hallway, Ron turned to find his front door literally fly by the living room entrance. It was in that instant that Scabior made his move.

"_No_!" Ron rasped when the ex-Death Eater pulled out a dingy bag from his cloak pocket. Ron slashed his wand in the air violently, but the ex-Death Eater reached into the bag and vanished abruptly, the Stunning spell missing him by mere inches.

Ron's face fell and he snarled, kicking at the pile of drapes behind him.

Scabior was gone, and Ron was alone.

* * *

**A/N**: And here we have a bit of a...not really a cliffhanger, more of a roofhanger? More resolution to come in the next chapter. And speaking of which...

I absolutely, 100% promise you the next chapter will have more adequate amounts of Harry in it. For those of you like me who totally dig his and Ron's bromance, I recommend keeping this story on alert. You shall not be disappointed! ;)

Inserting heartfelt sentiments here: you guys are awesome for sticking with me for this long. Seriously. Some people wait a year for book sequels; you guys wait a year for like 3-5 chapter updates. Your patience and kindness knows no bounds! Thank you, most sincerely. I shall make as best an effort as possible to keep writing!

Thanks again, and keep being awesome!

~dieselwriter


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